We’ve all done it, driven down a familiar road at night and not known for a few seconds where we are. Or maybe the opposite has happened to you. Walking into a dark room confused and then someone turns on the light and it all looks so different. In Finding Home, Tyler returns to his hometown—the place where he grew up as the poor kid with a drug addicted mother, changing addresses so often he had all his belongings in a backpack and a shoebox. He returns expecting the same troubles to be there as when he left; they are, but he soon learns his life history is not what he thought it was. He is not the failure he thought he was. It’s as though a light shines and he sees it all differently.
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Book Launch in 3 Days.
Finding Home- Tyler’s Story Book One: New Adult/81k words/ Contemporary Literary
Launching on Amazon (approx.) Jan 9, 2026.
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EXCERPT from “Finding Home”
I ended up at Anne’s apartment, but we’re not alone. Her roommate Danielle sits on the couch talking on her phone. I’m torn. Part of me wants to say something to Danielle when Anne disappears into her room to get an old yearbook. I want to hint that maybe Danielle could go into her room, leave Anne and I alone.
I should go to the kitchen sink and splash some cold water on my face. What am I thinking? We’re just talking. We’re just friends. Anne’s in mourning. Don’t mess it up, Tyler. She’s the only person I’ve talked to in a while who makes me feel like a real person, not a stranger. We’ve got history, good history, and I welcome it after years of shallow, meaningless half-friends.
She returns. We sit side by side as she points out pictures of me, which, to my surprise, are sprinkled throughout the yearbook. I never got a copy.
Linda did, but she was only concerned about filling it with signatures. A month after graduation, the book fell off-radar. I saw nothing more than my picture, which I wrote some corny poem on.
Anne turns a page fast, but I put my hand on it to stop her.
“Wait. Is that you?”
She’s sitting at a desk in classic Anne posture with her hands folded, and there’s my minimalist “TR” right at the top of her hands. But what makes me stare is that the letters are enclosed in a pencil-drawn heart.
“I never …” My words trail off.
“It was a long time ago. I was a teenager.” She turns the page with a snap.
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Be sure to come back tomorrow for another excerpt!
Have a great day, Clare
Clare Graith 