Channeling Marilyn by Mima Tipper (EXCERPT)

Hello, dear readers! In conjunction with her birthday yesterday, today we have an immersive excerpt from a Young Adult novel featuring the ghost of Marilyn Monroe herself!

From the publicity materials:

“High school senior Lexa Donovan longs to be more than a bit player in her own drab life—and when she’s chosen to be part of her school’s spring production of Bus Stop, she thinks her wish has come true. But her thrill turns to panic when she’s tapped to play the leading role, sexy showgirl Cherie. One thing tall, plus-size Lexa knows for sure is that she is the exact opposite of the most famous Cherie ever: sex-goddess Marilyn Monroe.

“Lexa wants out before she makes a fool of herself in front of everyone. But then something entirely unexpected happens: The spirit of Marilyn Monroe appears—ready and willing to be Lexa’s personal acting coach—and talks her out of quitting.

“Soon, Lexa’s life becomes a screwball comedy, with her bouncing between Marilyn’s acting “help,” her crush on her gorgeous co-star Brian, and her unexpected attraction to the mysterious Jeremy Leith. Comedy shifts to drama, though, as Lexa’s fear of humiliation—fueled by Brian’s jealous girlfriend—morphs into full-on stage fright. A fright that grows dangerously intense when Marilyn starts having decidedly un-spiritish feelings that have nothing to do with Lexa or the play.

“Before the curtain rises on opening night, Lexa and Marilyn will have to learn to trust their own hearts and act on what each truly needs to move on—in life and in death.”

Read on to see how Lexa first comes to Marilyn’s attention!

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A flash of color dazzles me, catches me, like spotting a scarlet bird across a vast wintry landscape. Oh, yes. A slash of red in my silent black-and-white world? Yes, indeed, I am caught. That red slash grows bigger and bigger, as if I am sitting on a bus or a train watching the view out the window come at me. I can’t look away either, and then I see that the red is a hat sitting on the head of a person, a girl, and I want to keep watching. More than anything. Now I am watching. Just like that. Not the endless black-and-white reel of life carrying on. I am stopping here and watching her. The girl. The girl wearing the scarlet-red hat.

This is truly something—this difference, this change. I thought I’d already gone through the biggest change ever. I am dead, after all. Terribly, terribly dead. I don’t know for sure, but I like to think I’m a spirit. A spirit who hasn’t had anything to do with “change” for a good long time. Since I got here, actually. To this cloud-white place that seems to be for me. For little old, alone me. I know my living body died more than sixty years ago, and as far as I can tell, time doesn’t mean anything here. Except for being able to see the world and life going by, a nonstop, silent black-and-white movie: rolling and rolling, like sleeping, like dreaming. Until this change. Being a spirit and all? I probably shouldn’t use living words like “change.” Except I don’t know any other way to talk, and whatever this change is, it’s making me talk. Somehow talking’s important. Like watching the girl.

Look at her. Right now, she is a freeze-frame statue standing in a brightly lit hallway surrounded by a frozen blur of kids with books and papers clutched to their chests. High school. Honestly, some places never seem to change. Other statue kids stand near the girl, the whole group facing a bulletin board full of announcements. It’s only her I need to watch, though, her I need to see, because even though everything and everyone around her remains the usual black and white, she is in color. Full, living color.

She is tall, too, and if I had to pick only one more word to describe her, I’d pick solid. Maybe because of how she fills that oversized navy peacoat, or how that nubby tan scarf loops around her neck. Or maybe it’s all about that scarlet hat. How the fuzzy knit hugs her head, the pom-pom on top as big as a fist. I don’t think so, though. Everything about her is solid. Her long curling brown hair fluffing over apple-cheeks. Her unsmiling, unpainted lips. Those heavy eyebrows drawn into a low V over eyes that are both green and brown. Oh, honey, I want to say, you look like you want to fade into the dark, except for that mad hat and . . .

What’s this now? More colors whirling around her. Somehow, I know it’s only me who sees that rainbow swirl: only me who knows they are thoughts, fears, desires. Red and gold, blue and black. My, my, the colors. Reminds me of daydreams I used to have. I can’t stop looking at those colors. Not only because I haven’t seen color since I got here, but somehow I know that some of those swirly colors are feelings about me.

Feelings about me. That is a puzzle. No. Correction. Not feelings about me now. She’s thinking of who I used to be. There, in the girl’s head, I see myself from the old days, when I was famous. When I posed endlessly for the cameras. Lush body, creamy face, platinum blonde hair. My eyes, sleepy and seductive. A tiny beauty mark above my red, red lips. I was a star. Indeed, I was. A movie star—Miss Marilyn Monroe. Jeepers, Marilyn Monroe. My Marilyn. And before that my Norma Jeane. My life. My whole life. All, all a long time ago.

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From Channeling Marilyn by Mima Tipper. Copyright © 2026 by the author and reprinted by permission.

Channeling Marilyn by Mima Tipper was published today June 2 2026 by She Writes Press and is available from all good booksellers, including