Saturday, September 28, 2013


Lorrie Thomson lives in New Hampshire with her husband and their children. When she’s not reading, writing, or hunting for collectibles, her family lets her tag along for camping adventures, daylong paddles, and hikes up 4,000 footers.

Though her new book Equilibrium is fiction, Thomson had the very real experience of coping with mental illness in her own family when her oldest son was diagnosed with schizophrenia while she was writing the book. For support and education regarding mental illness, she recommends that readers visit NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

Thomson applied the Page 69 Test to Equilibrium and reported the following:
Equilibrium is told from the alternating points of view of young widow Laura Klein and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Darcy.

Laura has spent all of her adult life caring for her bipolar husband and putting herself second—emotionally, creatively, and intellectually. She’s recently rented out her late husband’s writing studio to ER resident Aidan Walsh. On page 69, Laura’s insomnia has led her to mixing cookie dough, writing for the first time in years, and knocking on the door of her new tenant. She’s on the verge of reaching for all she deserves:
Her bed-sock feet relaxed against the smooth wood floor, responding to a palpable softness in the air. Yet, the distance between her and Aidan contained an energy that shifted her balance forward. A corresponding internal tug spun her thoughts. “Goodness, no. I was cooking. In the kitchen.”

He raised his eyebrows into identical arcs.

“I was getting some dough ready. For gingersnaps. I haven’t really baked anything.”

He nodded, as if her nonsensical speech made all the sense in the world.

“You have to let the dough kind of meld together. So I was writing.” She didn’t wait for his reaction; she just barreled forward. “Not really writing. Sketching out the framework for a character that came to mind while I was baking, but not really baking. You have to let character sketches meld, too.”

“Sure.” He took a step in her direction.

“Loved the music. I don’t think I’ve heard it before though. I was wondering if you could tell me what it’s called.”


“Not even a clue?” She tried looking him in the eye, even though his bare chest was vying for her attention. Just a sprinkle of dark hair at the center. And that waist—she gazed over his shoulder.

“I’ve never heard it before, either. Never played it before tonight.”

“You write music?”

“Occasionally. When I can’t sleep.”

Her new friend, Doctor Aidan Walsh, wrote music and strummed the guitar like a virtuoso.

Well, she couldn’t look past him when he was standing so close. “The music was beautiful.” He was beautiful. “You should write it down.” She should stop offering unbidden advice.
Learn more about the book and author at Lorrie Thomson's website, Twitter perch and Facebook page.

Writers Read: Lorrie Thomson.

--Marshal Zeringue