Small wonder that, at nine years old, Monica Holloway develops a fascination with the local funeral home. With a father who drives his Ford pickup with a Kodak movie camera sitting shotgun just in case he sees an accident, and whose home movies feature more footage of disasters than of his children, Monica is primed to become a morbid child. Yet in spite of her father's bouts of violence and abuse, her mother's selfishness and prim denial, and her siblings' personal battles and betrayals, Monica never succumbs to despair. Instead, she forges her own way, thriving at school and becoming fast friends with Julie Kilner, whose father is the town mortician. She and Julie prefer the casket showroom, where they take turns lying in their favorite coffins, to the parks and grassy backyards in her hometown of Elk Grove, Ohio. In time, Monica and Julie get a job driving the company hearse to pick up bodies at the airport, yet even Monica's growing independence can't protect her from her parents' irresponsibility, and from the feeling that she simply does not deserve to be safe. Little does she know, as she finally strikes out on her own, that her parents' biggest betrayal has yet to be revealed. Throughout this remarkable memoir of her dysfunctional, eccentric, and wholly unforgettable family, Monica Holloway's prose shines with humor, clear-eyed grace, and an uncommon sense of resilience. Driving with Dead People is an extraordinary real-life tale with a wonderfully observant and resourceful heroine. "Memoir, at its best, opens my heart and gives me a view into the core perfection of another. Monica does this in the most essential way, going directly to perfect storytelling laced with irony and humor. She held my heart with her raw, unapologetic honesty, and she flawlessly rendered what it is like to be a child who sees everything, endures it, and still loves with her whole being." -- Jennifer Lauck, New York Times bestselling author of Blackbird and Still Waters "A meticulously reported account of one girl's journey through a violent and unpredictable childhood. Holloway's strong voice and remarkable sense of humor, in spite of the horror in her past, make this an unforgettable read." -- Hope Edelman, New York Times bestselling author of Motherless Daughters "Joining searing childhood memoirs such as The Glass Castle and Running with Scissors comes the impressive Driving with Dead People, a fascinating, gritty, hilarious read for everyone who realized as a child -- as Monica Holloway did -- that 'we were the weird ones.' Holloway narrates her sad, funny childhood with an exquisite blend of raw honesty, deadpan wit, and compassion for her family -- and herself." -- Leslie Morgan Steiner, L.A. Times bestselling editor of Mommy Wars " Driving with Dead People is a heartbreaking, hilarious, and page-turning read. In the space of one sentence Monica Holloway can break your heart and make you laugh out loud at the same time. Her memoir has the momentum of a good mystery novel -- the kind you stay up all night reading to find out what happens to the heroine, because you love her so much. This is a stunning debut of a writer who deals with difficult material and makes it fresh and moving." -- Barbara Abercrombie, author of Writing Out the Storm and Courage & Craft Monica Holloway is the critically acclaimed author of the memoir Driving with Dead People . She has contributed to the anthology Mommy Wars , from which her essay "Red Boots and Cole Haans" was described by Newsday as "brilliant, grimly hilarious." She lives in Los Angeles with her family. Driving with Dead People By Monica Holloway Simon Spotlight Entertainment Copyright © 2008 Monica Holloway All right reserved. ISBN: 9781416955122 Chapter One It changed everything: a school picture printed on the front page of the Elk Grove Courier, the newspaper my father was reading. I was eight. Sitting across the breakfast table from Dad, I pointed. "Who is she?" "She's dead." He kept reading. "What happened?" I asked. No answer. I leaned forward to get a closer look. She looked like me: same short cropped hair with razor-straight bangs, same heart-shaped face, same wool plaid jumper. I looked at Dad: bloated, smudged glasses slid halfway down his nose. Why wasn't he telling me what happened? He loved talking gore; lived for it; documented it, even. Dad drove his Ford pickup with his Kodak movie camera sitting shotgun just in case he saw an accident. If he was lucky enough to come upon something, he'd jump out and aim his camera at whatever was crumpled, bleeding, or burning. And every Thanksgiving he lined up Mom and the four of us kids on the gold-and-brown-plaid studio couch, hauled out the Bell + Howell reel-to-reel, and rolled his masterpieces. Images jiggled past, scenes from our tiny Ohio town of Galesburg. Christmas morning, four beautiful children in color-coordinated Santa pajamas, squi