Archive | February, 2013

Favorite Flight

25 Feb

4303955Now that I’m living in Ireland I can’t help but think that I should have made the title of this post “FavoUrite Flight.”  The purpose of today’s list is to explain why my third book, Flight Risk, due back from the editor on Friday, March 1st, is my favorite book I’ve written to date.

1. It takes place in a city I hold near and dear to my heart: Nashville, TN.

2. It’s based on the miracle of second chances.

3. The male lead is a sexy country music star (let’s face it, ladies, who hasn’t fantasized about a good looking musician?)

4.  The characters, dialogue, and general storyline makes me giggle.

 

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Semester of Thursdays: Chapter 22

22 Feb

For your chance to win a FREE signed copy of “Semester of Thursdsays” simply join Jenny Hickman’s official author page on FACEBOOK and cross your fingers on Friday, March 1st!

* * *

For the first time in five years, Meredith Westbrook is SINGLE!!  What’s going to happen next?

Cover 1* * *

“You’re single!” Lena shouted and jumped on my bed.  I tried to keep still so she didn’t stomp on me.  Maybe she would think I was sleeping and would leave me alone.  The thought nearly made me chuckle.

“Not really,” I croaked, my eyes still closed to the false brightness of a dreary May day.  If I ignored her then she would go away.

“You’re either single or in a relationship.  This isn’t Facebook; I’m not giving you an ‘it’s complicated’ option as a scapegoat.”

“But it is complicated,” I whined.  Too complicated to ponder with a sleep-muddled head.

“Life is complicated.  Get. Over. It.”

To think, some people had best friends they could rely on when they were in a slump.  Mine liked to kick me while I was down.  “Thanks for the sympathy.”

“You don’t need sympathy,” she warned.

“I don’t?”  Heaven only knew what Lena’s remedy for singularity was.

“No.  What you need for the night is a beer, someone to make out with, and your best friend.  Hmmm… if only you drank and had fewer morals.  I guess you’ll have to make do with the latter.”

“If only I had a best friend,” I said into my pillow.

“What would you call me?”

“Oh, the words I could use to describe you.  For starters, you’re a huge pain in my—”

“Before you say something that you’ll regret—” she interrupted.

“I never regret telling the truth,” I muttered beneath my breath.

“Would just any friend make you this?”

My eyes popped open, and I threw the pillow off my face.  “What is that?”

Lena shook the shiny disc in her hand like a tube of maraca.  “It’s a CD.”

“Really?  Wow.  What does it do?”

She laughed.  “Funny, Mer.”

“Thanks.”  I rolled over to stare at her.  She was excited; the feeling vibrated the air around us, attempting to be contagious.  I ignored its pull.

“Listen to it.”

“It’s not filled with a bunch of depressing songs, is it?” I couldn’t handle depressing today.

“But I thought you liked depressing.”

“Not right now I don’t.”

She hugged me, but made no move to get off me afterward.  “Don’t worry, Mer.  It’s not depressing.  It’s the best of break-up for the twenty-first century.  A single-girl’s mix, if you will.”

“So it’s a compilation of whiny women bashing their rotten ex’s?”

“Oh yeah,” she said enthusiastically.

“Kelly Clarkson?” I guessed.

“Twice.”

“It’s too bad I’m the only one who gets to listen to it.”

Lena glared at me from two inches away.  I suppressed the increasingly unfamiliar urge to laugh.

We are single,” she said, trying to be convincing.

“No, I am sort of single.  You, on the other hand, have a boyfriend.”

“Alec is not my boyfriend,” she said, unable to conceal the giddiness his name produced.

“That’s not what Facebook told me,” I teased then moaned.

Facebook.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, choosing to respond to my groan instead of my comment.

“I know it’s petty, but I hate changing my relationship status online.”  It seemed so… final, so public.

“Why?”

It was almost too trivial to admit aloud.  “Because all of those people out there who I barely know but stalk me anyway will be bursting with questions that are none of their business.  I can’t handle people who pretend to care only to appease their own curiosity.  Maybe I should just cancel my account.”

She chuckled.  “Good luck with that.”

Her blatant sarcasm set me on edge.  “What do you mean?”

“You’d only come back.”

“I think I could survive without belonging to an online social community.”

“No, you can’t,” she said seriously.  “Once you’ve joined you’ll be connected for life.  Besides, how else will you track all those random people we graduated with?  How will you rub your exciting life in their faces?”

“Right now my life is depressing.”

Right now.  But not for long, I don’t think.”

“I guess I don’t have to do anything right now.”  All I needed to do was survive.

“No, you don’t.  Especially since you’re not really single,” she mocked.

Lena sat on top of my stomach and pinched my cheeks together.  I scowled, and she smacked me on the forehead with the palm of her hand.

“Ow!  What was that for?”  I glared at her, calculating how much force would be necessary to throw her out my window.  Of course then I’d be responsible for paying for the damage.

In the end I decided it wasn’t worth breaking my bank account.

“You’re finished.”

“What are you talking about?’

“I am sick and tired of seeing you waste away while feeling sorry for yourself.  Quite frankly, Mer, it’s pathetic.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, replacing the pillow over my pathetic head.

“I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone.  Just wait and see.”

The way she said that gave me a sick sense of foreboding.  “Oh no!  What are you planning?”

“First thing’s first.  You are going to shower, shave, and do your hair.  At that point we will talk,” she commanded.

I frowned at her highhandedness.  “Who died and made you boss?”

“Your hygiene, confidence, and self-respect.”  Instead of arguing, I sighed, knowing resistance was futile.  “Come on, Mer.  Being single is a good thing.  You never know who you’re going to meet.  Not knowing who you will end up with is the exciting part.”

“I’ve known who I was going to be with for five years,” I pointed out.  Knowing was comfortable.

“Seventeen was too young to decide something like that.  Besides, I don’t know why you’re so depressed.  Holden should have snapped you up when he had the chance.  You are a prize.  If he didn’t realize that by now then you dodged a bullet.”

The truth behind her words scared me.  I was nervous about my future, worried that I had made an irreversible mistake, and yet I was… relieved.

“He would have figured it out.”  Eventually.

“Hindsight will speed up the process.  Besides, you shouldn’t have to wait, pressure, or coerce.  If his timing doesn’t match yours then it wasn’t meant to be.”

“You sure are knowledgeable for a girl who is in her first relationship.”

“I have high standards,” she sniffed.  “Alec is the only one to even come close.  Can you imagine how much I’ve had to grow to be able to admit that?”  Her eyes were wistful, no doubt envisioning her boyfriend.

“I’m proud of you.  I feel like I should get you a card or something.”

“Totally unnecessary.  Besides, Hallmark probably doesn’t have one appropriate for this particular occasion.”

As commanded, I showered, shaved, and did my hair.   There was freshness to my face, a light I hadn’t expected to see.  I looked… hopeful.

A knock sounded at the door, pulling my gaze from my reflection.

“Lena, are you going to get that?” I shouted.

“Can’t!” She yelled back, her words barely lifting above Lil’ Wayne’s raspy voice.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not decent!”

“Since when does that matter?” I mumbled to the air as I took the steps two at a time.

“Hey, Mer!” The familiar voice gave me a pang of guilt.  It had been months since I had spoken with Brian.  I was a horrible friend.

“Hey, Brian,” I said happily.

I had missed his easy-going personality.  My last few weeks had been filled with too much seriousness.

“It’s been forever,” he pointed out without a hint of anger.

I winced.  “Yeah, I know.  Since before spring break.”  A lifetime ago.

“Yeah! And now the semester is almost over.”

“It’s hard to believe.”

“You look good.”  He smiled appreciatively.

“Thanks, so do you.”

He never changed; Brian was still the dorky guy from high school with an easy, goofy smile.  We could lose contact for years, and I would still be just as comfortable with him when we were reunited.

He blushed.  “So, I was wondering…”

The expectancy in his voice made me stiffen.  “Wondering what, Brian?”  My attempt at a light tone failed miserably.

His next words came out in a rush.  “I was wondering that since you’re single maybe we…”

Lena was a dead woman when I got back upstairs.

“We, what?”  I didn’t bother trying to explain the complicated status of my relationship.  Besides, it wasn’t any of Brian’s business—just like it hadn’t been any of Lena’s business.

“Well, what I meant was, maybe you and I…”  He let his sentence hang and offered me a hopeful look from beneath his short lashes.  It felt like someone had taken a gavel to the base of my skull.

“Brian, I am not single.”  Not really, not yet.

“But Lena said—”

“It’s complicated,” I hedged.  “Besides, you’re a really great friend but I’m just not attracted to you that way.”  Or any way that mattered.

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling slightly.

It took me a second to realize his implication.  “That’s… that’s okay?” I squeaked.  “You deserve more than a friendship in a romantic relationship.”

“If friendship is the only thing you feel for me then I’ll take it,” he said to his shoes.  When he looked at me his eyes were filled with determination.  “I’d take you any way I could.”

Did he understand what I was saying?  “I’m not attracted to you, Brian.”

“I know, but things like attraction could come with time.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Brian frowned.  “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“No,” I answered too quickly.

There wasn’t someone else.  Why did everyone come to that particular conclusion?  Being purely single wasn’t impossible.  People did it all of the time.

“Then why—”

“Why are you pressing the issue?” I interrupted.

“Because if I don’t do it now I may never get another chance,” his voice was desperate, pleading.

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“I’m sorry, Brian.”  I really was.

I reached out to touch his shoulder but let my hand drop.  He didn’t need me to comfort him right now.  So I escaped into the safe haven of my apartment.

“Lena!” I shrieked.  The scuffling noise from upstairs stopped.  “We need to talk.”  I stomped up the steps to my former best friend’s room.

“Hey, Mer,” she greeted.

“Why did you tell Brian I was single?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked innocently—too innocently.

“Don’t play stupid with me.  I do not want to spend the last week of the semester warding off a bunch of over-zealous suitors.”

Lena had the gall to smile at me.  “Why not?”

“Because I’m not interested in them.”

“How do you know?  Maybe you haven’t met all of them.  Or maybe you have met them and haven’t given them the opportunity to woo you.”

Woo me?  What is this, nineteenth-century London?  I’m not ready to date yet.  I don’t even know if I’m allowed to date.”  What a slap in Holden’s face if I went on a date with someone only a day after he and I had ended our relationship.

Allowed?  Do you need to ask your mommy?”

“Ha-ha.”

“You’re single, right?” she pressed.

“I don’t know!”

This entire nightmare would be over soon.  We had ten days before graduation, that’s all I needed to endure until Lena stopped trying to turn me into a less attractive, brunette version of her.

“I’m sorry for telling Brian, okay?”  For once there was sincerity in her tone.

“Please, please keep the information to yourself.  I need to figure out some things before I move on from here,” I begged, praying she would leave me be.

“You are going to move on, aren’t you?”

The thought was terrifying, unknown. “I’m not sure.”

“You know you should though, right?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I do.  But—”

“But what?”

“But it feels like it’s been fifty years since I’ve dated.  How do you even know if you like someone for the right reasons?”   I couldn’t remember the first step.

“Why?  Who do you like?” she asked, too excited for my own good.

“Come on, Lena!  We’re not in third grade anymore.”  And there was no way I was going to tell her who I could be interested in.  It was silly, stupid, and useless.

“You have to tell me!  Pleaseee?  I swear I won’t tell anyone else.”

“I know you won’t tell anyone.”

“Well then what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem.  I don’t like anyone.”  It would be too soon for that.

“Not even me?”  Lena batted her eyelashes and exhaled loudly.

“Not right now.”  Not when she was being nosey.

“But you just said—”

“I’m speaking hypothetically,” I allowed.

“I just want you to know that I’m not buying what you’re selling, Westbrook.”  I glared at her, willing for her to let the issue drop.  “Okay, okay.  In order to answer you I have to understand what you’re talking about.  But when you’re being all cryptic…”

“Like, how do you know if you’re with someone because they’re safe and familiar or if it’s because they’re the one?  Or if you think you like someone but only because they’re new and exciting?”

“And sexy?”

“Focus!”  I didn’t have time for her dangerous fishing expeditions.

“Focused.  I don’t know, Mer.  I guess you just know stuff like that.  If you’re meant to be with who you’re with then you aren’t going to sway from them.  Some guys are just there to tempt you, to try and draw you away.”

Too often I had watched from the sidelines as that scenario had played out in front of me.  “Yeah, I know.”

“But then sometimes the right guy is jumping up and down, waving his arms in the air, and shouting, ‘Pick me! Pick me!’”

Something Lena had said stayed with me long after she left my room.  In five years I hadn’t seen any man worth swaying for, until now.  But even then, I couldn’t hear him yelling.  It was just the opposite; he rarely spoke at all.  Instead, I was the one shouting, frantically waving my arms in the air, and daring to hope he would notice.

* * *

Keep reading for FREE next Friday :):)

Until then, have a great week!

Signed Copy Giveaway

21 Feb

IMG_8072-1Join author Jenny Hickman’s FACEBOOK page today for your chance to win a FREE signed copy of her second book “Semester of Thursdays.”  The drawing will be held on Friday, March 1st, so don’t hesitate!

 

Back to the Couch

19 Feb

1580250Lately I have been feeling sick and totally unmotivated to write anything even though I have 23,000 words of a fairly promising WIP completed.  But today, despite hanging nausea, I decided to change all of that.  In an effort to create the most productive writing environment for myself and my ideas, I recreated the ambiance from my parent’s living room (where I wrote all of my books to date).  So, with the encroaching cushions thrown off the couch, giving me room to sprawl, a comfortable pillow and a notebook, I plugged in my headphones and wrote.

What flowed from my pen may not have been my best work, but it pieced together some of the holes left in my plot and came to me relatively easily.  At the end of the session I remembered why I love my “job.”

 

Happy reading and writing!

-Jenny

Semester of Thursdays: Chapter 21

15 Feb

Cover 1

“Have you ever wanted to let go?”  I wasn’t paying attention to the road ahead; my mind was free falling over the edge of the mountain, landing beneath the budding trees. There would be rocks at the bottom, sharp, crushing boulders.  But their presence only heightened my mental decent.

Lena had insisted we go shopping to stock up on Thursday-night wardrobes for the last two weeks of the semester.  We were on our way back to Frostburg, my trunk weighed down with purchases—most of them hers.  Fortunately she had made a generous donation to Goodwill so there was some vacant space in her closet, a void yearning to be filled.

“Of what, exactly?”

“The wheel.”  I loosened my grip a fraction, separating my palms from the leather stitching.

Out of the corner of my eye I observed Lena’s comical reaction.  First her eyes shot to me, judging my sanity.  Then she studied the road, warily taking in the steep drop to our right and large gap dividing the lanes of the highway.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Mer…”

“I’m not going to let go now,” I promised.  “It’s just that sometimes I want to.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive?”

“No, no,” I assured her.  She still looked skeptical.  “I’m not suicidal, Lena.  I’m just curious.”  Curious about how it would feel to press on the gas and let the car fly for a few exhilarating seconds.  What would it be like to let go?  How would people feel when they heard of my fate?  Who would be affected?

“Curious,” she repeated carefully.  “How often are you curious?”

“Mostly during highway driving or when I pass steep inclines.”  It just so happened that we were driving west on I-68 over a mountain pass.

“Pull over,” she commanded.

“Why?”

“Because I’m driving.”

“No, you’re not.”  She had too many tickets and minor traffic accidents to be trusted at the wheel of my vehicle.  “I just sometimes want to step on the gas and fly over the edge.  Just to see how far I’d go, how many trees I’d clear.  Would I land on the other side of the median or nosedive into a spruce?”

“You would crash and we would both die horrible deaths.  And then I would hate you beyond forever.”

“Most likely.  But what if—”

“What if nothing!” she interrupted.  “You’re seriously messed up.”  Lena shook her head, placated that her life was not in immediate danger.

“I know.”

“And depressing.”

“So I’ve been told.  Maybe you should avoid me altogether.”

“I probably should but you’re there to even out my eternal optimism.”

There was no greater purpose in my life than to keep Lena’s feet on the ground—at least it felt that way.  “That’s exactly why God put me on this earth.”

“What would we do if, heaven forbid, I was as miserable as you one day?”

Like that would ever happen.  Lena had too much to smile about.  “I imagine our depressive forces would combine to become a black hole of despair, the likes of which no one has ever seen.”

“Why do I hang out with you?” she mused aloud.

I chuckled.  “Maybe you should stop.”

“That’s not likely.  After so many years you’ve become a habit.”

We drove a few more miles before she spoke again. “Maybe you should change the music on your iPod.”

Laura Marling’s haunting voice floated from my speakers.  “Why?  What does my music have to do with anything?”

“Because the music on there makes me want to commit suicide, and I’m an essentially happy person.  You have no chance if you continue listening to this depressing crap.”

“I like depressing music,” I defended.

“You can’t like depressing music—that’s an oxymoron or something.  You tolerate depressing music.”

I frowned.  “No, I tolerate you.”

“You sure are vicious today.”

I was vicious, and easily annoyed, and vaguely interested in crashing my car.  “I didn’t get much sleep last this past week.”

After we had gotten home last Thursday I had been awake for hours replaying the events of the night.  It irritated me further to know that I could attribute my lack of sleep to Remington’s cryptic comments.  He shouldn’t have had such a hold on me.

As if she could read my thoughts, Lena asked, “Whose fault is that?”
There was no way I was going to admit that Alec’s friend had kept me awake long after he was gone; Lena would have too much fun with that.

“Yours,” I accused.  After all, she had been the one to drag me out… again.  Ultimately, it was her fault I had even met the man.

“You really need to learn to take responsibility for your own actions.  It’s not like I held a gun to your head, did I?”

Instead of answering, I focused on not hitting the majority of Frostburg’s track team running along the side of the road.

“I hate driving by people who are running.”

“You’re in a sunny mood.”

“It’s your music.”

I pulled the plug on my iPod and turned the radio to the most upbeat station I could find just to pacify her.  “Why do you hate driving by people who are running?”

“Because they’re rubbing in my face what I should be doing.”

I snickered.  “You’ve never exercised a day in your life.”

“Exactly.  That’s why the reminder pisses me off so much.”

“Lena, what I meant was that you’ve never needed to exercise.  You have been blessed with a metabolism from the gods.”

She crossed her arms against my logic.  “And when that slows down?  What then?”

“Then you start exercising.”

“It will be too hard to break the habit of laziness.”

Surely her sour mood hadn’t stemmed from twenty minutes in a car with my playlist.  “Then I guess you’re screwed and destined to be a heifer,” I said, giving in to her pigheadedness.

“I know,” she agreed.  “With the way I eat I’m basically a fat girl in a model’s body.”

She was right about one thing: she had a model’s body.  “What did you do to deserve this curse?”

“That’s all I want to know.”

We made it to the parking lot next to our apartment before either of us spoke again.

“You know you’re ridiculous, right?”

She grinned.  “It’s the music.”

Maybe Lena had been right and my music was getting me down.  Or it could have been that seven days had passed since I had spoken to Holden.  Twice I had been prepared to call him but had talked myself out of the weakness.  The entire situation was childish.  Because I had questioned him about one inconsequential detail he had refused to speak to me for a week.  Silence had never led to a resolution before and it wasn’t going to start now.

“Holden still hasn’t called, has he?” Lena asked, her hands full of plastic shopping bags.  She had uncharacteristically kept her opinions on the situation to herself, for which I was grateful.

“Nope.”  All of my anger had dissipated by day three.  Perhaps he had been right, and I had been unnecessarily psychotic.

By day five I was annoyed.

Now I was livid; my emotions had gone full-circle.  If he had wanted to break up with me then I wish his intentions would have been clearer.  Had goodbye meant goodbye-until-I-feel-the-compulsion-to-talk-to-you-again or goodbye-for-good?

At this point that’s the only question that remained unanswered.

“You look worried, Mer.”

“I am worried,” I confessed, following her up the stairs and into my bedroom.

What did I want Holden to say?  Were there any words that could fix our broken relationship?

“He will miss you,” she said confidently.

“I know.”

Lena judged my reaction.  “Then what’s the real problem?”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do when he does call.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked quietly.

“No.”  And it should have been.

“It should be, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.  That’s why I’m worried.”  My sentence was punctuated by a shrill ring.  I recognized the custom tone immediately.

“Good luck,” Lena offered and closed my door.

My heart attempted to escape from the confines of my chest when I answered.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Mer.”

“Hi.”  I waited for Holden to speak so I could gauge his mood.  Had this past week been as miserable for him as it had for me?

Thirty eternal seconds later it was obvious that he wasn’t going to start the conversation.

“It’s nice to know you’ve gotten over the whole silent treatment,” I dripped sarcastically.

“Oh, come on!”

His snarky remark opened the floodgates.

Come on?  Are you kidding me?  I should think that after five years together I would deserve more respect than nearly a week of non-contact.  You ignore pests, not someone you claim to love.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I’m not sure but at least that one sentence is an improvement on the silence.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” I said.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” he asked, riled.

“Just be happy that it’s more than you have given me this past week.  I will not be treated like this.”

“Like what?”

I ignored the warning in his tone.  He may be mad right now, but I’d been seething for the better part of a week.  “Like I did something wrong when I called you out.”

“You’re blameless, like always.”

There had been times when I had been at fault but in this I was innocent. “Yes, I am.”

“So what’s going on with this?  With us?” he asked, seemingly indifferent to my answer.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, deflated.  “I think winning—beating everyone else—has become more important than the prize itself.”

For five years I had been singularly focused on the prize, on Holden.  It had started with getting his attention then moved to getting an engagement ring and surviving our relationship.  My one-track mind hadn’t taken the time to determine if this had been the right track.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m tired of fighting with you, of fighting for you.”

“So you don’t love me anymore?”

He had to ask the one question I no longer knew how to answer, to cut directly to the heart of the matter.  A few weeks back when I had asked him why we were still together I hadn’t really been questioning him, I had been asking myself.

“I don’t know.  I’m not saying that.”  Was I?  “I just think I need some time to figure out why I’m still with you.”

“If you can’t remember why then… I guess it sounds like you’ve already made your decision.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I admitted.

“So we’re done?” Holden asked once more for clarification.

Why did this ultimately come down to my decision?  He had been the one to put me in this life-altering position.  At the beginning of the semester I hadn’t thought this day would come and now it was here.  The end of a semester, the end of my relationship, and the end of the dreams I had held onto for five wasted years.

“For right now.”  Until I could think more clearly.

“Is there someone else?  Is that what this is about?” he shouted, angry at my betrayal.

“No,” I answered quickly, attempting to set him at ease.

“It’s him, isn’t it?  It’s that guy.”

“There is no one involved but you and I.”  Except maybe Eileen.

“Everything had been fine until he showed up, until you started going out to meet him every Thursday.”

“I can’t believe you’d imply something like that.”

“I don’t need to imply anything if it’s true,” he spat.

I ignored him.  After all, I knew I had done nothing wrong.  However, another part of his accusation had bothered me.  Had everything been fine between us?  In retrospect I could admit that it had been exactly that and nothing more.  But fine wasn’t good.  Fine didn’t last.

“I’m through arguing with you.  You’re going to believe what you want.”  And I no longer cared what that entailed.  “Like I said before, I need to figure some stuff out.”

And I needed to do it alone.

Celebrate Love

14 Feb

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I hope you get to spend today with the one(s) you love. If you’re looking for a way to celebrate, why not pick up a good love story and a box of chocolates? 

Happy Anniversary

9 Feb

Today is the anniversary of Moving-Foreword.com… the one-year and one-month anniversary to be exact.  To celebrate, here’s a throwback to my very first blog post!

1958673

Write Something

It is 10:00 pm and I have liberated my reluctant body from a plush pillow-top mattress in order to accomplish a goal: Create a blog by December 28th.

During the course of my ten-hour drive from the hills of West Virginia (go ‘eers!) back to Tennessee this morning/afternoon/evening, I was able to take the first step toward the aforementioned goal:

  1.  Come up with a [self-proclaimed] witty address where my blog will reside.  Welcome to www.moving-foreword.com

The second logical, albeit more intimidating, step is:

  1.  Write something worth reading.

Step 1 took only a few hours of brainstorming—and one 24oz sugar-free iced caramel latte (which I had stolen from my sister)—to complete.  The remainder of my journey was spent stewing over which topic buzzing through my mind was worthy of taking my blogging virginity.  Finally, after multiple inner-debates threatened to pull my concentration from bottlenecking post-holiday traffic, I reminded myself that I had two more days to complete Step 2 and needed put the entire thing out of my head.

Obviously, that brief reprieve did not last very long.  This time, instead of wondering what I was going to write about, I began subconsciously whining about the subjectivity of blogging and justifying my atypical bout with procrastination.  Sure, I could accomplish the first half of Step 2 and write something.  However, the second half, worth reading, wasn’t actually up to me.

My 10:32 pm Epiphany: I can write something.

My followers, enthusiastic or reluctant, would become my lab rats.

Here goes nothing…

According to the dictionary, a Foreword is an introduction to a document.  What better way to introduce my blog, my work and myself than to tell you my darkest secret?

I write.

For over three years I’ve been holing up on my couch and penning stories that had been hatched inside of my head, begging for a means of escape.  I am unapologetically addicted to the ink of a gel pen gliding on a canvas of horizontal lines bound within a spiral notebook.  And now, with a lot of prodding by friends, family, coworkers, and one dream manager, I have been convinced that it is time for me to share my work and my journey forward—wherever it may lead—with the one or two of you still reading this blog.

-Jenny

 

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Thanks for the continued support through comments, purchases, and words of wisdom!
Here’s to another fab year!