This book really will pull at your heart strings as a woman slowly attempts to live her life after the death of her daughter. The young man and all the other’s who help her to re find herself are totally believable characters. There is nothing in this book that you could not see actually happening in real life—the goat and the crotchety old woman will make you smile (I actually giggled)—The song the young man wrote for Jane will make tears fall from your eyes.
Please go and pick up a copy of this book—I know you will love it. There is a definite reason why this book is on the USA Best Seller's List!!
About the book (from Amazon)
USA TODAY Best-Seller
What boundaries would you cross for love?
That's the question a grieving mother must answer when she takes in a young street musician to learn about her daughter's death and finds herself falling for him. A touching love story that will have you equally tantalized and in tears, Jane's Melody follows a forty-year-old woman on a romantic journey of rediscovery after years of struggling alone.
Sometimes our greatest gifts come from our greatest pain. And now Jane must decide if it's too late for her to start over, or if true love really knows no age.
Jane's Melody may not be suitable for younger readers due to sexual content.
This book can be purchased at Amazon and Barnes & Noble
About the Author (from Amazon in his OWN words)
Hi, I'm Ryan Winfield. I'm a 38-year-old writer living in Seattle. Author of "South of Bixby Bridge" and "The Park Service Trilogy". My latest title, "Jane's Melody", releases everywhere on June 18. If your book club is reading one of my books and you would like me to attend your next get together, either in person or via Skype, please don't hesitate to message me. I hope you enjoy my books and I'd love to hear from you at facebook.com/ryanwinfield.
I've been asked why I write. I write because I remember.
I remember waking up to snow. Great buckets of it poured from the gray skies and blanketing everything in quiet white. I remember racing to dress, struggling with my boots. "Here, don't forget your mittens." I remember the soft thump of that first footstep in the cold and virgin powder, the tracks looking back, foghorns blowing on the mist-covered bay. I feel the canvas paper bag cutting into my shoulders, the weight of Sunday's headlines heavy on my mind. I see the trees bowed with armloads of white, as if to curtsey my passing. I remember rubber bands and ink stained hands. A car spun sideways in a ditch. Always a car. Then barking dogs, a distant chainsaw. Freckles throwing fastballs that hurt for the cold of them on my neck. I remember snowmen, and igloos, and icy trails through the white and wondrous woods. And I remember sweet Mrs. Johnson waiting at her door. The smell of Avon powder, her thin smile, an envelope pressed into my palm--ten dollars and a peppermint candy cane thank you. Evening now. I remember running downtown--Salvation Army bells, white lights strung in sidewalk trees, bundled shoppers bent against the wind. I remember the heavy door, the warmth, the wood. The bookstore! Smells of paper and leather and ink. Walls of worlds bound and waiting for me to read.
Nothing has affected me as much as reading has. Dickens, Tolkien, and Lewis raised me. And while I've walked through my own hell, made my own mistakes, and found my own redemption, always there have been books. Books to help me escape, books to teach me when to stay and fight, books to help me see where I've been wrong and where I've been right.
I write because I remember. And I write because I still dream.
Visit Ryan's Author Page on Amazon
Ryan's Blog on Goodreads
I purchased this book with my own funds. All opinions expressed are my own honest opinions. For more information please check my Disclosure Statement. Our giveaways are in no way sponsored or promoted by Facebook.