Do you have a favorite smell? I’ve got lots: bread baking in
the oven, fresh rosemary on my fingertips, bee balm, anything lemon, sawdust,
alfalfa hay, babies, eucalyptus, roasted coffee beans… I could go on.
How about smells you can’t stand? That’s a list I won’t
write, except to say that there are many. Many, many. And most of them are
chemical or manufactured smells. I’ve a long-standing discussion going with
daughter #3 about hairspray, ie: how many gallons does it take to create
beauty, the merits of scent-free products and at what point and how far from
the house will I set up her beauty station, should our discussion not progress
in my favor. :)
In my latest book, THE CHOCOLATE CURE, my hero is recovering
from a concussion, which affects his memory early on in the story. He meets the
heroine but doesn’t really remember her – except when triggered by certain
scents.
I know a little bit about brain injuries from my husband,
who was hit by a car while riding his bike as a teen, and suffered a skull
fracture. He was lucky to survive – the driver did not stop - and within a few
months, made a full recovery. But a few years later, he began smelling things
that weren’t there. Gradually his sense of smell disappeared completely. It’s
undoubtedly the easiest of our senses to live without, and he’s not hampered
greatly by it, but he does miss it when I’m baking cinnamon buns!
We know that there’s a strong link between smell and memory,
so wanted to explore that in this story.
Mick’s first words to Maddie are “You smell good, like
chocolate.” And from then on, he associates – and eventually remembers, her by
smell.
Here’s a few excerpts:
Maddie bent
forward, very slowly, keeping her gaze on his, holding his hand. He inhaled a
trace of something light and flowery, lotion perhaps. Or her shampoo. It
smelled... purple. Like lilac. Remember
this. Keep this.
**
Light shone
behind her head, renewing the halo he'd seen earlier. A lock of golden hair
slipped free of the pins, fell over her shoulder and brushed against his cheek.
Her neck was fragrant as a garden warmed by the sun. Lilac, spring breeze, sunshine.
**
The
fragrance of shampoo, fresh, like sunshine, or lilacs in springtime struck Mick
in the solar plexus and he inhaled reflexively, quenching some deep thirst he
didn't know he had and couldn't identify. Her breath was touched with mint, but
still, it warmed the wintery air around her... her breath... and her skin and
the sparks in her eyes...
**
A whiff of
lilacs drifted over him. Mick glanced around. The houses were all laced in snow
and frost, the trees bare. There was nothing remotely in bloom. Where did that
trace of lilacs come from?
**
And my favorite line of the whole
book:
"I was
broken," Mick said, "and you cured me, with lilacs and sunshine and
chocolate."
**
The Chocolate Cure is available at:
