Perhaps a mask gives us the freedom to act according to our true nature — the one we hide from ourselves. One look at the internet and social media gives credence to the idea that the feeling of anonymity frees us to act in extraordinary ways or say things we would never say directly to someone’s face. We hide behind the avatar and the carefully built profile. Showing only those bits of ourselves we want to, with the idea of making us look better than we are. Except the carefully constructed facade crumbles under the force of stated personal opinion.

“We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.” ~ Patrick Rothfuss

In Speak No Evil, Melody Fisher has several examples of people hiding behind masks and the damage it does. Her uncle hides his sadistic, bullying tendencies behind a church-going, scripture-quoting facade, but at home the mask comes off. Pillar of the community Wade Hatchet hides his sick and twisted behaviors behind the persona of a loving husband and caring father. But when night falls and no one else can see, he gives in to his urges, then prays for forgiveness.

It is just like her daddy taught her as a child:

“People put on masks to hide their nature, so you must learn how to look behind the mask for your own protection. You have many gifts. Follow your passion and soar like the hawk.” ~ Will Fisher

Yet knowing their nature didn’t protect her. So Melody cloaks herself in silence as a means of protection. Unfortunately, the silence quickly becomes her prison.

Oscar Wilde said, “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” So who do you become when you hide behind the mask of anonymity? The freedom rush can be heady, but when you stop and look behind the mask, do you like the person you see?

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The result of fear is a life half lived. We will never reach our full potential and we miss out on so much. Example: Hiking through the hills during my scouting years, I strode down the middle of the path, head down, eyes scanning the brush for snakes—due to ophiophobia (fear of snakes). I missed out on enjoying good times and laughs with friends, taking in the scenery, and all because I couldn’t get past my fear and enjoy the moment. My fear controlled me on those hikes.

The idea for Speak No Evil captured me from the moment it arrived. A teenage girl who had been through so much trauma, she became afraid to speak. Every time she spoke out about things that had happened to her, something worse followed. Melody’s silence was her fortress — the walls she put up against encroachment by the outside world. But it became her prison.

To say that I fell in love with the story immediately may be an understatement. I was itching to write it. The characters were fantastic. The story compelling. It haunted not only my dreams but also my waking moments. But other than capturing scenes and making notes, doing research, I didn’t write.

Why didn’t I dive in? I’m no stranger to reaching the end of the story only to realize while the concept is good, the words on the page are a hot mess and need a LOT of editing. I’m one of those writers who actually enjoys most (not all) of the editing process because that is what makes the work shine. But still I wouldn’t write it. I was afraid.

Afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle the story in the way I saw it in my head. Afraid the story was bigger than my talent as a writer. The LAST thing I wanted to do was to fail Melody — fail her story.

Any time I would think about starting a draft, the little gremlin on my shoulder whispered in my ear, but you’re not ready. I had allowed fear to stop me from sharing this story.

Then, after a couple of years and a swift verbal kick up the backside from Italia Gandolfo, I conquered my fear … well, conquered is probably too strong a word. I told my fear to hush because the time had come. Then I put the butt in the chair and fingers on the keyboard.

“You will never learn to fly if you let someone else carry your wings.”

My characters talk to me … and not always about the story. As I got to know Quatie Raincrow, Melody’s first foster mother, she said, “You will never learn to fly if you let someone else carry your wings.” It’s one of the first things she said. The context? A scene that never made it into the book. The scene itself wasn’t important, but the words were. They were meant more for me than for the story at that point.

It’s true. If you don’t strap on those wings and take a leap of faith, you’ll never learn to fly. It’s about having courage to do the things you’re passionate about. So it has become a personal motto of mine. When I hang back and don’t move forward into a new venture because I might fail, I take a deep breath and put my wings on. Am I going to fail? Yes, but I’ll dust myself off, and try again. Usually the thought of failure doesn’t hold me back, but when it does, I know I need to strap on those wings and reach for the sky.

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Let’s talk a little bit about what those numbers mean … like only 0.5% of the perpertators will wind up in prison. Or to put it another way, 99.5% of the perpetrators will remain free to sexually assault another person. What about the every 92 seconds? That’s 39 people every hour, over six of which will be children, and 939 per day, 160 of which will be children. That is 342,782 people every YEAR and of those 58,400 are CHILDREN. Roughly ONLY 1,714 will go to prison. My heart is breaking.

Another case rose to media attention this past week because an appellate panel overturned a judge’s decision not to try a 16-year-old as an adult. The judge’s comments in the case made me think … and I gained a new perspective, after calming down because frankly Judge James Troiano’s reasons for not trying “G.M.C.” as an adult enraged me. And let me be clear, it wasn’t the decision, it was the reasons given that were upsetting.

As background information: the case involved a pajama party where a 16-year-old boy who filmed himself assaulting an intoxicated girl and then texted the video to his friends. The legal definition of rape is: “The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.”

• Judge Troiano stated that in his mind there is a distinction between sexual assault and rape and further elaborated to state that traditional cases of rape include two or more (generally) males involved forcing the victim at either gun or knife point or threatening to injure the victim. I won’t go into the further inanities of his statements as to traditional cases of rape because his statement already shows he lacks the ability to perform as a judge in ANY rape or sexual assault case. He is a judge and as such his JOB is to hear the specifics and make a determination not based on what is in his mind but by what the law states. Yes, the law is subject to interpretation, but he wasn’t basing his decisions on what the law states, but on what he as an individual thought.
• The text sent to the friends stated, “[w]hen your first time having sex was rape.” To me, this indicates the he knew EXACTLY what he was doing. However, the judge dismissed it as “stupid crap” 16-year-old boys say to their friends. Do 16-year-old boys say “stupid crap”? Absolutely, and you can expand that to people of any age or gender. We have all said something stupid at one point or another. But this was not a case of stupid braggadocio — it was backed up with a video of the event and a girl incapable of giving consent.
• And the final bit of enraging rhetoric from the judge: The boy comes from a good family and gets good grades, so will probably be able to get into a good college. Which, of course, has absolutely NOTHING to do with whether he should be tried as an adult — the only determination the judge was supposed to be making. I feel like this needs a “You had one job …”

At this point, my brain was taking me on an emotional roller-coaster over how we as a society can allow these things to happen over and over again, how we need to weed out these judges who treat victims with such little regard because they are so worried about the impact on the poor perpetrator and how their life will be ruined for one mistake. But then when I went down the alley of “he obviously DOESN’T come from a good family or they would have taught him about consent, what it is and why you need to have it, and oh, by the way, no one from a “good” family would ever think it was OKAY to send a video of a sexual encounter to their friends whether it was consensual or not.

And then I stopped and realized what I was doing … blaming the family for the perpetrator’s actions. I don’t know them. They may be a good family indeed. They may have had all the right discussions with their son — who chose not to listen. But this is what happens. We hear of these horrendous events and start casting blame at society, the judge in the case, the family, the friends, and the biggie, the VICTIM, but we do not put enough emphasis of responsibility on the shoulders of the perpetrator.

In this case, do I blame the judge for ineptly executing his job? You bet. BUT I should be enraged at “G.M.C.” more than the judge in the case who made a decision not to try him as an adult. I should not automatically assume that the family has not tried to impart moral values to their child. They very well could have. Each person is responsible for their OWN actions and we need to start holding them accountable for those actions. But with only 0.5% of perpetrators being held accountable, we have a mountain to climb.

What struck me so forcibly about this particular case were the similarities to Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel, Speak, which was published 20 years ago. In it, the main character, Melinda, had been at a party where she had a drink for the first time and was plied with alcohol by a classmate who then took her away from the party and raped her. While he didn’t video it and share it with his friends, she was made an outcast because sick and hurt she called the police. She didn’t speak about what happened to her because of her shame — her voice was effectively silenced.

In my upcoming book, Speak No Evil my main character starts the book having been silent for the prior two years because she felt silenced by the situations she encountered. Speak came out twenty years ago, and yet we still don’t listen and put the needs of the victim first. I wrote Speak No Evil to give Melody a voice, and as a survivor of rape myself, my greatest hope is that through reading the book others will find their voice and with it some peace.

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When the idea for Speak No Evil came to me, the very first thing I knew was how important music would be in the context of the book. Music has been an integral part of Melody Fisher’s life, from birth onward. Gifted with a talent for singing, Melody first performed in front of her snake-handling church with Mama and Daddy providing the accompaniment.

In the seventeenth century, English dramatist William Congreve wrote, “Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” It has the power to distract our mind, calm our rhythms, pump us up, and alter our mood. As a writer I have always used music when writing and editing.

Confession: I am easily distracted until I get fully into the story. Without music I would never hit my writing zone. Once I reach my zone, the wall behind me could fall and I wouldn’t notice … but until I’m there, my mind hares off after every little unexpected sound. So I learned early on that my best method was to put music on that I knew extremely well to occupy the part of my brain that would distract me with other things and it creates an environment where I can sink into the world of my characters and “hear” them without problems.

For Melody, music has become the only thing she feels she can rely on. After suffering several traumas in her life, Melody stops speaking. While physically capable of doing so, she is unable to express her thoughts and feelings, a condition called selective mutism. When the book opens, she hasn’t spoken, or communicated in any fashion, to anyone for more than two years. But now she’s in a situation where she must find her voice, and her therapist, Dr. Kane, uses music to help her find her way.

I recently ran across the below Ted Talk put on by Esha Alwani, who suffers from Tourette’s, about how she uses music to regain control over her symptoms. I found it fascinating and what she has to say rang so true with me in how I use music to help in my writing process. It’s well worth a listen.

Pre-order Speak No Evil in Hardcover or Paperback.

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Just a bit about the book …

What if every time you told the truth, evil followed?

My name is Melody Fisher. My daddy was a snake handler in Appalachia until Mama died. Though years have passed, I can still hear the rattle before the strike that took her from me.

And it’s all my fault.