| The Myth of You and Me was published by Shaye Areheart Books in September, 2005.
Synopsis
When Cameron was fifteen, Sonia was her best friend—no one could come between them. Now Cameron is a twenty-nine-year-old research assistant with no meaningful ties to anyone except her aging boss, noted historian Oliver Doucet.
When an unexpected letter arrives from Sonia ten years after the incident that ended their friendship, Cameron doesn’t reply, despite Oliver's urging. But then he passes away, and Cameron discovers that he has left her with one final task: to track Sonia down and hand deliver a mysterious package to her. Now without a job, a home, and a purpose, Cameron decides to honor this request, setting off on the road to find this stranger who was once her inseparable other half.
The Myth of You and Me is the story of Cameron and Sonia's friendship—as intense as any love affair—and its dramatic demise, capturing the universal sense of loss and nostalgia that often lingers after the end of an important relationship. Searingly honest, beautiful, and full of fragile urgency, The Myth of You and Me is a universal celebration and portrait of a friendship that will appeal to anyone who still feels the absence of that first true friend.
Praise
“A smart, exceedingly well-written story about the mysteries at the heart of even the most intimate friendships between
women. You’ll be reading into the wee hours.” -People "Wrapped up with a zinger of a twist, the suspenseful tale moves rapidly and finishes on a satisfying note. In other words, it’s got lots of imagination, plenty of excitement, and a pinch of truth."-DailyCandy.com "Full of genuine feeling--and gripping, too--this book about a friendship between two women announces that Leah Stewart is a marvelous writer."-Ann Packer, author of The Dive from Clausen's Pier "The Myth of You and Me deftly exposes the passionate and particular bonds of female friendship, from adolescence to adulthood. Poignant, fierce, and compelling, this is a story all women will recognize, and one all too rarely told."–Claire Messud, author of Hunters and The Last Life "Leah Stewart captures, as few other writers do, the passions and pains and pleasures of friendship. Anyone who has ever lost or found a friend will respond to this beautifully written and suspenseful novel. —Margot Livesey, author of Banishing Verona Buy from Amazon.
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 | Body of a Girl was published in 2000 by Viking, and in 2001 by Penguin. It's also been published in Germany, Norway, and the UK. My thinking about the novel started with "Strip Poker," a short story I wrote in college. Click on "short stories" above to read it. The story is far more concerned with the narrator's relationship with her boyfriend than with dead bodies, but when it came to the novel I listened to my friend Elwood Reid and put the dead body on the first page. A sage piece of storytelling advice.
Synopsis
In Memphis, where the heat clings heavy like a second skin, it has been a summer of murders. Olivia Dale's job as a novice crime reporter is at once surreal--stepping in and out of strangers' lives with her notebook--and all too real. As she looks down on the twisted body of a young woman who has been kidnapped and gruesomely killed, she wonders if she could have been that girl. After all, as she chases a lead story, she discovers that Allison Avery--so all-American, so like Olivia in age and looks--was just like her except wilder. Drawn deep into the shadows and secrets of Allison's life, Olivia becomes caught up in exploring her own wild side and finds herself seduced by a perilous world where her life may be in danger. Hypnotic, compelling, and gorgeously written, Body of a Girl is a "must" summer read.
Praise
"The secret at its heart will astonish you."-A. Manette Ansay, author of Vinegar Hill
"This isn't John Grisham's Memphis; it's way more dangerous. Leah Stewart mates the breakneck pacing of Sue Grafton and the creepy depth of Laura Kasischke."-Stewart O'Nan, author of A Prayer for the Dying "A compelling novel--a thoughtful thriller and page-turner about the rewards and perils of empathy in a culture dominated by sex, drugs, and violence"-Charles Baxter, author of Shadow Play and The Believers Buy from Amazon.
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 | Body Image
I wrote this in 1995, during graduate school, and it was published in the fall 2003 issue of Yemassee. It's my first attempt to tackle the subject of female friendship.
My friend Sonia had pair after pair of tinted contacts, and when people said her eyes were such a pretty green or blue or hazel she would just say thank you. They would say, what an unusual shade, and she would glance at me and smile, because I knew what color her eyes really were: brown, a lighter shade than mine.
Sonia's eyes were blue the time she took off her clothes at one of my parties our senior year in college. I remember, because they were such a bright blue they looked neon, and she lost one of her contacts somehow so that one eye was a shocking blue and the other was a very light brown. It made her look demented. Everyone at the party seemed to have something wrong with them. It was my apartment, but I didn’t seem to know anybody there. At one point a strange girl came up to me and bit me on the arm. I jumped away from her. "What are you doing?" I asked. Read More (PDF) >
Strip Poker
I wrote this story in college. My teacher had pointed out that I never described landscape, so the assignment was to begin the story with the setting.
David lives on Mud Island. At night when I am there we sit out on the front steps and look at the other people sitting on their front steps. He smokes a cigarette while I play imaginary piano keys on his thigh. Fur Elise, the right hand part, which is all I remember from five years of lessons. The street has the cheerful misty look that comes from bright artificial lights at night, and sometimes a breeze shifts the air that sits wet and heavy on my skin. Houses there remind me of childhood beach vacations, the temporary homes I remember seeing squinty-eyed through the car window at night as we pulled, finally, into town. A deep, tired sigh of arrival. The buildings look lightweight, wood painted in pale yellow. The windows angled and huge, and inside ceiling fans, spider plants with their tangled shoots dangling wantonly from the high hanging pots. I can’t help but feel that there no one ever has to vacuum, that the dusting and the polishing and the washing is done with precision by unseen maids.Read More (PDF) >
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