Jane's Melody by Ryan Winfield Review

Jane's Melody by Ryan Winfield

Jane's Melody $3.99 Amazon

$3.99 on Barnes and Noble

What boundaries would you cross for love?

That's the question a grieving mother must answer when she takes in her dead daughter's young boyfriend 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 is an adult romance novel and may not be suitable for younger readers due to sexual content.

Jane's Melody by Ryan Winfield
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Please note, I'm writing this review with tears in my eyes. As with everything this author writes, I was enthralled. Up late last night, reading all day. This book has become my favorite of everything he's written. A deep touching story that any person will enjoy. The depth of pain in all the characters is felt throughout. Dealing with loss, alcoholism, love and moving on, Jane's Melody brings to you a heart wrenching story of a mother losing her daughter. Meeting Caleb, she felt she had one last link to a daughter she had lost long before her death, he shows her how to move on, and become alive again.

I can't say I've read any other book that had me crying like this. The last 15% of my phone has me feeling like my heart was ripped from my chest, but in such a good way. The life and story of Jane will make you smile, laugh and if it doesn't make you cry, then you are a stronger person than I. I don't want to spoil any of the story for you, so I'll just leave you with this. You have got to read this book. If you are a mother, a daughter, a friend, a man, it doesn't matter who you are, you have to read this book.

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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.

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