In the fall of 2019, after three years in Nashville, I hit the road, heading back west into the setting sun, to kickstart my new life. Holly 2.0, soon to be Neon Cowgirl, the reinvention/resurrection from the ashes of which the original Holly had burned and died.
Every niggling fear that had ever been entertained by my mind, had come true, during my time in Tennessee. My once thriving career had choked, turned blue, and keeled over. My lawyer had made a mistake on a crucial back-end deal, and the money I had been counting on for years of survival never came, leaving me beyond flat broke. I couldn’t pay the rent and was booted from my house. My father, who was looking after my aging grandmother, was forced to take me, his aging daughter, in as well. Three generations under one roof, an unfathomable situation come true. Being that I was unqualified for any kind of “real work” (whatever that is) after a life in show business, I found a job hostessing at a barbecue joint for twelve dollars…
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