B.A. Bellec
YA / Coming of Age
In his debut endearing coming-of-age book, B.A. Bellec writes about a group of weirdos that find and save each other from the dark depths of their minds. Someone’s Story is literally Someone’s story, as in a first-person narrative of a teenager that calls himself Someone. As he struggles to find a new footing in a new space, we encounter the many ups and downs of modern teenage life, the difficulties that adjusting to adult feelings bring, and a few tear-jerking surprises along the way.
Littered with music, mental health, friendship, loss, meditation, advice, pop culture, and even inspiring an EP, there is so much nostalgia, inspiration, and depth here it is hard to absorb it all. Cozy up somewhere warm and enjoy!
“B. A. Bellec has crafted a masterpiece of emotive and well-rounded young adult fiction.”
K.C. Finn – Author
“The variety of personages, situations, and mental illnesses represented allows all readers to relate to this book and take something away from reading! This novel is on our list of all-time favourites!”
International Girls and Books
“Someone’s Story is a beautiful novel, written in great prose, very descriptive, and filled with insights about life. The author does an incredible job with themes of family, friendship, bullying, and personal development. It felt like I was reading a portion of my emotions and myself in Someone’s Story.”
Gobi Jane – Professional Critic @ Readers’ Favourite
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Amazon → https://amzn.to/3dHJU7X
It’s cold. That means different things to different people. To be specific, I haven’t seen the grass in four months. When the wind gusts, my skin burns.
That part isn’t so bad. The part that’s horrible is the wind is kicking up frozen snow and it feels like a person is throwing a handful of razor blades at me. If I don’t dress properly, I would be lucky to survive fifteen minutes. Like actually die. It’s cold.
The sidewalks disappeared long ago, so I have to brave the road for the short walk to school. It’s dangerous on these small-town roads. Sometimes, the snow is blowing so hard I can’t see more than a few feet. Scary.
When I get to the front door, no one is there. The building is small, so I can see all the way around to the lot behind it. There are a few cars. On a good day, we get twenty. I try my luck around back. The door is unlocked. Once I get in, it looks like a ghost town. I check all the rooms. Not a soul. This place is eerie and unsettling. Maybe it’s the prison bars on the windows and the ketchup-themed school colours.
Eventually, in the lunchroom, I find a few of the teachers. As I walk in, I take notice of the room right next to the lounge. It is the tiniest office ever. It’s more like a broom closet. Dr. Drum is written on the door. Funny name.
Teacher: Class is cancelled. Go home.
The teacher looks again and realizes it is me.
Teacher: How are you feeling? Is anyone bothering you?
They’re always asking questions like that. I don’t answer. Just sigh because I don’t want to brave these conditions again, but I have no other choice. I slowly make my way along the country road back home, occasionally having to put my back to the wind or tuck my head deep into my chest in order to avoid the searing pain.
To my surprise, Dad’s truck is back. Once I get inside, it takes a good five minutes until the feeling in my hands comes back and my clothing has thawed enough that I can take the first few layers off. Dad is sitting at the table.
Dad: Hey kiddo, we need to talk.
Instead of responding, I just make my way to the table and seat myself.
Dad: They're transferring me.
My eyebrows raise but I am too young and naive to really understand what that means.
Dad: They offered me a good raise in a new position. But we have to move. I didn't want to take it. I looked around. My field is declining. There is nothing local. I am lucky they offered me what they did.
My mind races.
Someone: I want to stay.
Dad: No, we just can’t.
Someone: What about my mom?
Dad: You know I don't know where she is.
Someone: I'll find her.
Dad: That's not a good idea.
I can hear the clock slowing, but at the same time my heart speeds up. Slower and faster, slower and faster. What is happening? I can’t breathe. I need a drink. I can't move. Why can't I move? WHAT’S GOING ON?! The room spins and I fade to black.
That part isn’t so bad. The part that’s horrible is the wind is kicking up frozen snow and it feels like a person is throwing a handful of razor blades at me. If I don’t dress properly, I would be lucky to survive fifteen minutes. Like actually die. It’s cold.
The sidewalks disappeared long ago, so I have to brave the road for the short walk to school. It’s dangerous on these small-town roads. Sometimes, the snow is blowing so hard I can’t see more than a few feet. Scary.
When I get to the front door, no one is there. The building is small, so I can see all the way around to the lot behind it. There are a few cars. On a good day, we get twenty. I try my luck around back. The door is unlocked. Once I get in, it looks like a ghost town. I check all the rooms. Not a soul. This place is eerie and unsettling. Maybe it’s the prison bars on the windows and the ketchup-themed school colours.
Eventually, in the lunchroom, I find a few of the teachers. As I walk in, I take notice of the room right next to the lounge. It is the tiniest office ever. It’s more like a broom closet. Dr. Drum is written on the door. Funny name.
Teacher: Class is cancelled. Go home.
The teacher looks again and realizes it is me.
Teacher: How are you feeling? Is anyone bothering you?
They’re always asking questions like that. I don’t answer. Just sigh because I don’t want to brave these conditions again, but I have no other choice. I slowly make my way along the country road back home, occasionally having to put my back to the wind or tuck my head deep into my chest in order to avoid the searing pain.
To my surprise, Dad’s truck is back. Once I get inside, it takes a good five minutes until the feeling in my hands comes back and my clothing has thawed enough that I can take the first few layers off. Dad is sitting at the table.
Dad: Hey kiddo, we need to talk.
Instead of responding, I just make my way to the table and seat myself.
Dad: They're transferring me.
My eyebrows raise but I am too young and naive to really understand what that means.
Dad: They offered me a good raise in a new position. But we have to move. I didn't want to take it. I looked around. My field is declining. There is nothing local. I am lucky they offered me what they did.
My mind races.
Someone: I want to stay.
Dad: No, we just can’t.
Someone: What about my mom?
Dad: You know I don't know where she is.
Someone: I'll find her.
Dad: That's not a good idea.
I can hear the clock slowing, but at the same time my heart speeds up. Slower and faster, slower and faster. What is happening? I can’t breathe. I need a drink. I can't move. Why can't I move? WHAT’S GOING ON?! The room spins and I fade to black.
Author of Someone’s Story and co-collaborator on the music
it inspired, B.A. was born in Richmond, BC and raised in Langley, BC,
before settling in Winnipeg, MB. His first adventure was a career in
Finance, where he spent 15 years developing his business skills. His
highest achievement was the Certified Payroll Manager designation. He
currently still consults with businesses on their systems and processes.
Over that period of time, he also attended film school where he started
to nurture his early creative abilities.
A self-starter always interested in research, he taught himself many of the aspects of storytelling through reading books, screenplays and material online. Whenever he found an inspirational piece of art, he quickly went to the source to find the story behind the artist who created the work. It took many years after attending film school for him to finally combine his creative skills with his life experience and tell that story he had been holding back. Some of his favorite creative people: Lukas Rossi, Justin Furstenfeld, Peter Jackson, Stephen Chbosky, John Green, J.K. Rowling.
Currently he is pounding away on the keyboard writing his second novel, Pulse. This project is a change of pace and more details will come in a few months!
B.A. is also an avid jogger and walker, frequently using them as a way to work on those tough spots in life and his manuscripts. If you found it this far into his material, reach out to him on Twitter and make sure to like and subscribe to get updates on all his future endeavors.
Blog: https://babellec.com/b-a-bellecs-blog/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/b_bellec
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/babellec/
A self-starter always interested in research, he taught himself many of the aspects of storytelling through reading books, screenplays and material online. Whenever he found an inspirational piece of art, he quickly went to the source to find the story behind the artist who created the work. It took many years after attending film school for him to finally combine his creative skills with his life experience and tell that story he had been holding back. Some of his favorite creative people: Lukas Rossi, Justin Furstenfeld, Peter Jackson, Stephen Chbosky, John Green, J.K. Rowling.
Currently he is pounding away on the keyboard writing his second novel, Pulse. This project is a change of pace and more details will come in a few months!
B.A. is also an avid jogger and walker, frequently using them as a way to work on those tough spots in life and his manuscripts. If you found it this far into his material, reach out to him on Twitter and make sure to like and subscribe to get updates on all his future endeavors.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:
Website: http://www.babellec.comBlog: https://babellec.com/b-a-bellecs-blog/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/b_bellec
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/babellec/
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