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The Life’s Theater, Book Two: Composed in Silk. Art and Essays.
Composed in Silk feels like a quiet walk through a gallery where each painting holds a story that unfolds in whispers. The book blends vivid portraits with short essays about stillness, grace, identity, and the long, slow work of becoming. It moves from the discipline of silence to the spark of inner fire and finally to a blooming calm that feels earned. The characters, imagined yet relatable, reveal themselves through color and mood as much as through words. The whole book reads like a meditation stitched together with art.
As I moved through the pages, I felt pulled into the softness and tension living inside these women. The writing struck me with its gentle insistence. I found myself slowing down, feeling the rhythm shift as each section invited me to pay closer attention. The author’s language is simple yet loaded, like he trusts the reader to sit with the quiet parts and actually feel them. It reminded me of moments in life when I’ve had to make sense of my own silence, and the book made that inner work feel less lonely. Sometimes I wanted a more direct explanation, but part of the charm is that nothing is overexplained.
The ideas in the essays caught me by surprise with how personal they felt. The portraits of women such as Deborah, Gabriela, and Goldie lingered with me long after I turned the page. Each figure holds a kind of truth about strength that doesn’t look like the usual loud version. The book treats softness as something powerful, and that hit me in a very real way. The writing about becoming, especially in Act II, made me pause and look at my own life, the ways I’ve tried to grow without losing myself. Some chapters stirred up sadness. Others felt warm and almost healing. I appreciated how the author never tried to tie everything up neatly. The ideas wander a bit, and honestly, that wandering felt human.
I think this book would be perfect for readers who love art that makes them feel instead of analyze. It’s also a good fit for anyone who has moved through quiet seasons in their own life and wants a book that understands that kind of journey. If you enjoy reflective writing, emotional honesty, and portraits that tell stories without shouting, this book will feel like a companion.
Pages: 85 | ASIN : B0G16921FG
The Victory in Fighting
In Prodigal Song, readers follow you on your journey from your childhood in LA to your time spent as a struggling rock guitarist in Hollywood. Why was this an important book for you to write?
I started writing Prodigal Song shortly after completing a novel called Body: or, How Hope Confronts Her Shadow and Calls the Flutter Girl to Flight. Body is an inspirational romantic comedy exploring self-image and struggles with body image. I had many inspirations for the female protagonist’s issues, but my own story was the main source. I wrote Body with a female audience in mind, which greatly shaped how the characters related to their bodies and how that impacted their relationships and lives. I shared my own journey of identity, music, exercise, and obsessiveness with a friend who thought it would make a great book. I realized that by telling my own story, I could create a book that would explore themes of identity in a way that resonates more with men.
Also, I came of age in a time when everyone was in a band or wanted to be in one. I wanted to give Gen Xers an insider’s view of what it was like being in the Southern California music scene in the 1990s and 2000s, while letting them relish in the nostalgia of that time.
Ultimately, I want my books to be sources of insight and encouragement to readers. I know many people struggle with the themes in Prodigal Song—body image, identity, failure, anxiety, the need for adventure ,and meaning. I hope my story offers perspectives that help readers better understand and navigate their own journeys.
You are open and honest about your most difficult years, and I appreciate the candor with which you tell your story. What was the most difficult thing to write about?
I see Prodigal Song as my version of the first Rocky movie. Spoiler alert for a nearly 50-year-old film: Rocky doesn’t win the fight. He wins most of the fights in the sequels, but there is something sweet—and paradoxically victorious—in the failure explored in the iconic character’s debut. Sharing embarrassing stories wasn’t necessarily difficult, but I faced the challenge of writing a memoir about someone who didn’t succeed in the music business and making that compelling for readers. As Sylvester Stallone did, I had to show the victory in fighting regardless of the outcome.
What do you do when you try extremely hard to achieve a dream—for years—and the split decision doesn’t go your way? More people relate to this experience than to winning the championship belt. The hardest part was writing a book that offers fresh, meaningful insights into this well-worn path.
Is there anything you learned about yourself as you were putting Prodigal Song together?
The subtitle of Prodigal Song is A Gen X Memoir of Excess and Obsession in Pursuit of the Rock ’n’ Roll Dream. I brought the excess and obsession to my story—it was my friends who helped me channel those tendencies into a way forward, one with balance, accomplishments, and joy, even in the face of setbacks and failures.
In the book, I quote a lyric one of my friends wrote:
I don’t know where I’m going
But I know that where I am is not what I’d planned
I don’t know the way out
But I know that when a door is there
I will have a hand.
— Aaron Baker from his song “Someday”
Putting a book like this together, you really see all the unlikely events of your life that had to come together to bring you to the present—and I’m very thankful for my present. I’ve always been aware of how important my friends were along the way, but writing this book emphasized even more that my adventures in music and exercise were really adventures in friendship. At every step of my journey, I found a “door” to enter, and at every door was the helping and guiding “hand” of one of my friends, as Aaron’s lyric captures.
What is one thing you hope readers take away from the experiences you share in this book?
I hope this book can reinforce for readers the power of relationships—that our journeys gain meaning primarily through the connections we create with friends, family, and God. And in that communion, we can live in gratitude, regardless of whether our pursuit of goals and dreams leads to triumph, failure, or some wild, messy combination of the two.
Author Links: GoodReads | X (Twitter) | Facebook | Website | Amazon
Part comedy, part cautionary tale, Prodigal Song offers a nostalgic and humorous take on chasing fame in the most image-obsessed place on Earth—Hollywood, California.
For many, the rock ’n’ roll dream ends in rehab, bad tattoos, or worse. For me, it led to a loss of faith and a ballooning waistline. By age twenty-five, I was overweight and spiritually flailing while trying to succeed in an industry where image is everything. So began a decade-long journey of excess and obsession—over my body, my diet, and the pursuit of success in music. I dropped 65 pounds, transformed into a touring musician, and was “living the dream,” though my soul was increasingly out of tune.
Enter an unexpected mentor—a straight-talking, virtuoso guitarist with a gift for speaking hard truths. Through his wisdom, I began to see beyond the mirror and uncover a path to redemption.
Prodigal Song is a story of excess and obsession, but it’s also one of grace, humor, and finding faith in the unlikeliest of places. Whether you’re a music fan, a dreamer, or someone who’s ever struggled with self-worth, this Gen X memoir will leave you laughing, reflecting, and inspired.
The Fine Art of Grieving
In The Fine Art of Grieving, Jane Edberg guides readers through the deeply emotional landscape of mourning her son Nanda’s untimely death. Through evocative vignettes, Edberg captures the profound depths of maternal grief, using photography and various art forms to navigate her emotions and memories. The narrative seamlessly intertwines past and present, illustrating moments with her family and her solitary struggles with loss. This culminates in a powerful exploration of personal transformation and acceptance.
Edberg’s The Fine Art of Grieving is a moving exploration of a grieving mother’s journey. One of the book’s most compelling aspects is Edberg’s use of art as a means to process her grief. Her vivid descriptions of photography sessions, art installations, and spontaneous artistic creations offer a unique and engaging framework for understanding her experience. This artistic lens not only enriches the narrative but also highlights the transformative power of creativity in the face of profound loss. While the book’s emotional intensity and detailed grief rituals powerfully enhance its authenticity, I feel some readers might find these aspects deeply resonant and immersive. For those experiencing similar losses, these elements may evoke a sense of connection, underscoring Edberg’s genuine and heartfelt portrayal of her mourning process.
The varied settings—from the intimacy of the family home to the expansiveness of natural landscapes—serve as poignant backdrops that echo the themes of life, death, and rebirth. Supporting characters like Rachel, Roger, and the friends who participate in Edberg’s art projects add depth to the narrative, underscoring the importance of community and shared experiences in the grieving process.
The Fine Art of Grieving is a beautifully raw and inspiring work. Edberg’s heartfelt prose and innovative use of art make this a significant read for those interested in the impact of grief and the cathartic power of creativity. Her courageous exploration of pain stands as a testament to the enduring strength of love.
Pages: 418 | ASIN : B0CW2RS699
LITERARY TITAN 