I’m going unplugged for a week. I might have service where I’m going, but I might not. I won’t be looking at my phone. I won’t be bringing my computer.
I’m going to dive into the life of Alice Godwin, a woman who is haunted, lost and searching for answers and closure from the past. A poet whose ups and downs are controlled by stimulants and depressants. A role for which I googled “how to take shots” and watched videos titled things like “adults drunk for the first time,” then rehearsed in a mirror with a shot glass full of water that I somehow happened to have and nearly threw my neck out over-exaggerating my portrayal of the art of drinking tequila. A character who is in some ways like me but, clearly, unlike me in so many others.
I am going to tell Alice’s story, along with the story of three other female writers and the unsolved murder of the family that came before them. Beware “The Unspoken”—it’s as haunting as it is empowering.