For the Love of Potter

I just had to post this.  Is anyone else as excited as I am?  My fiance and I have watched Part 1 about a million times already.  I am a little sad, because once this is out, that's it!  Last one *sigh.*  At least we all have The Hunger Games movies to look forward to.  Also, I read a while back that The Host by Stephenie Meyer is being made into a movie.  I can't wait for that one.  Enjoy...

The Cure to Baby Fever

The word busy just doesn’t cut it these days.  I’m swamped, overloaded, wait-what day is it, crazy-busy.

My weekend went like this:

Friday – Clean house (do laundry, vacuum, kitchen, bathrooms, kitty room, aaaah!). Cook Dinner.  Drive up north to Tustin at 7:00PM. Edit for a few hours.  Sleep.

Saturday – Wake up.  Edit. Go pick up invitations.  Assemble invitations (which took FOREVER)….then big gaping hole in memory from mind-numbing invitation assembling.  Maybe editing?  Who knows?

Sunday – Wake up.  Edit.  Church.  Work on guest place cards.  Order guestbook.  Figure out table seating.  Dinner.  Seal invitations.  Pass out.

Monday – Too busy to go to work.  Drive to Pasadena.  Send invitations.  Wedding dress fitting (yay!).  Drive from Pasadena to San Diego during afternoon LA traffic (3.5 hours gone).  Home.  Eat.  Sleep.

Tuesday – Work.

As a long-term sufferer of baby fever, I can finally say for the first time in maybe five years, that I am glad I am not a mommy.  I honestly can’t imagine what I would do if I had kids right now.  I have a newfound respect for writer/working moms.  They deserve their own special lane on the freeways or something…My sister is one of these wonder women (luckily I get my baby fixes from her when the fever flares up).  She is 4 months pregnant and has the cutest 18-month-old on the planet.  For those of you who need a baby fix, I don’t mind sharing. 

Anyway, my point is that any tiny little moment of spare time I have these days has been devoted to editing.  I’ve even had to give up some of my mind-rotting T.V. shows (SOME – not all).  I would say I am about 40% done.  I have the border of the puzzle complete and the main plot points are put together, but there are still some holes.  It actually has been pretty fun trying to fill the holes, coming up with creative ways to connect the pieces instead of just jamming them together because that’s what comes next.  I’m not a patient person though, and as long as the project is in a state of incompletion, my mind will not be at ease.  I like things structured, pretty, perfect, finished.  The Descendants (although it will be there soon) is not there yet.  Until that day comes…baby fever has met its match.

Short Story

Hey everyone,

The editing is going well....finally.  The tears have subsided (for now) and the changes in the story are exciting and fun to write.  I'm actually loving it.  I wish I could share all of the new ideas and details with you, but I'm not sure my publisher would appreciate that.  Plus I have to build some suspense right?

In the meantime, I thought I would share a short story with you that I wrote a while ago.  It's not perfect, but it is a little taste of my writing.  I hope you enjoy it :)

Dreams

If there was ever a point just before the clinically insane wondered if they were truly going crazy, Megan Reynolds was there, right on the precipice of madness, testing her footing before she took the leap.  If she were asked why, she would say it was because of the dreams.  They were the reason she refused to sleep tonight, but maybe she was already gone, already crazy.

At 23, she sat alone in her off-campus apartment trying to convince herself everything would be all right.  Her best friend and roommate, was out on a date, which made it much easier for her to sit wide-awake on their couch at 1:30 in the morning dwelling on her situation.  She knew sleep would eventually find her, and so would the dreams, but if she could put it off a while longer, she would.

Over the past few weeks, Megan had noticed an older version of herself occupying her dreams, like a fly that just won’t let you be.  She followed her through every whimsical fantasy her brain managed to conjure up in the night.  No matter where she ended up, the older her was always there, with the same wild brown curls and honey gold eyes.  Any sane person would say her woman self was a figment of the imagination, that on the nights she invaded Megan’s dreams, it was the mind’s portrayal of some internal conflict.  What convinced Megan she was losing it was the idea that it could be real.

She had always thought her dreams were just dreams, fleeting and imaginary.  There had been so many throughout her life, so many she’d chosen to ignore or let herself forget.  The memory is fragile and the content of Megan's dreams always seemed to break apart in the morning and by breakfast all was forgotten.  Last night’s dream was different.  It stood out as sharp and clean as a still water reflection, and it made her wonder how many like it she had let slip from her memory like drops of water evaporating from the earth.  She should have been listening.

The image of her own matured eyes pleading back at her made her stomach turn.

“Who are you?” Megan asked, unable to ignore the woman’s consistent presence in her dreams.

“I think I’m…you,” she answered, “just older.  We’re in different places, or times.  I don’t know.”

“But what do you want?  Why have you been following me?”

“I’m hoping you can help me.”  The request seemed simple enough, but there was something more hanging on the end of her words. 

“I don’t understand.  How?”

“I want to undo something I did a long time ago, something I think you’re about to do.”

Megan watched as the woman struggled with the decision to tell her.

“What is it?” she pried, suddenly intrigued.

She was hesitant, not wanting to be the one to break the bad news, but she had no choice. 

“You kill your best friend.”

Megan laughed in her sleep.  “That won’t happen.”

“I know you don’t believe me,” her dream self accepted, “but if I'm right, I think I'll be able to prove it.”

“Then, prove it,” Megan challenged her with confidence.  She knew with unwavering certainty that she would never hurt Eric.  Not ever.

“What year are you in, what month?”

“I thought you knew everything,” she teased, playing off of the woman's earlier accusation.

Although her eyes were older, they still rolled with the same irritated expression as Megan's.

“I can only judge the time by what I see in your dreams, I only have a general idea.”

“It's 2010, October 5th.”

“We don't have much time,” she said, trying to hide her obvious anxiety.

“Yeah but, I mean this is just a dream right?”  The woman’s sincerity was starting to make her nervous.

“I don’t know.”

“It is,” Megan comforted herself.  “You are always in my dreams.”

“And you’re in mine.”

Megan woke abruptly and without answers.  The distant sound of droning music reverberated through the floor from a downstairs neighbor like pulsing sonar pulling her out of the deep well of her subconscious.  She groaned with frustration as she tried to hold on to the dream, hoping she would find it again, but the music grew louder.  Apartment living had its drawbacks.  She was awake, and it was gone.  She expected the pieces to float away from her as soon as she opened her eyes, but she remembered the conversation vividly.  She had dreamed a warning from the future; somehow, she had killed Eric, or would kill Eric.  The thought made her blood pulse too quickly, and her throat squeeze tight, hindering her breath.  She was too afraid to ignore a dream that seemed so real.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Eric asked from the drivers seat on their way to campus.

His bright blue eyes were pinched together, not in anger, but in amused curiosity.  

“Nothing,” she shot back.  “Why?”

“Well first of all you’re not talking my ear off, which means I’ve had to do most of the talking and you’re not even listening.”

She laughed.  “You sound like a woman.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

It was funny to think someone of his size could have such thin skin.

“See, now your being all sensitive too.”

That shut him up.

She was being too hard on him, after all, it wasn’t his fault she’d had the dream, but it was easy to take things out on Eric.  They had known each other for so long.  He was like a brother to her.  Their parents had been friends when they were born, so by default they had been as well, and for as long as she could remember, Eric had been there to help her take on the world.  He was as good as family, and no matter how awful she was, he would always forgive her.  That’s why she wanted so badly for the dream to be wrong.

“Sorry,” Megan apologized, not wanting to ruin the day, a day she hoped would not be their last.

She tried to think of something else to talk about, a way to make things seem normal, even though she knew they weren’t.

            “So how was your date,” she asked, trying to recover.

            The question caught him off guard.  “Oh, it was good,” he answered without enthusiasm, and she could tell “good” meant “not so good.”

            “It couldn’t have been that bad, you were out pretty late.”

            He smiled at her.  “Ok, so she wasn’t my type,” he admitted.  “I went out for a beer with Charlie instead.”

            She shook her head, smiling back.  “You’re too picky.”  Part of her was happy though.  It wasn’t that she was jealous, they were too much like family to ever have feelings for each other, but Megan knew that a girlfriend would steal away her time with Eric, and she was selfish.  She wanted her best friend all to herself, but if the dreams were right, a girlfriend would be the least of her worries.  He would be taken away from her for good.  The thought made her stomach sink, and she couldn’t think of anything else.

“Do you believe in time travel?” she asked as he parked the car.

“No,” he answered with a laugh.  “Why?”

She ignored the question.  “What about premonitions or fortune telling?”

“You know, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’m having a vision right now.  Wait…” he said, eyes closed tight in mockery.  “Yes, I’m seeing you and me, being late for class.”

Megan was not amused.  “All right, all right, you don’t have to be sarcastic,” she said, rolling her eyes as her older self had in the dream.  The memory brought on the fear, and her face tightened up, like it always did before tears.

Eric recognized the look immediately.  “Oh come on Megs.  I’m sorry okay?”

He was solid and strong, and his heavy build nearly swallowed her up as he held her close.  Eric had developed the look of a man, far before he ever truly became one, always the kid who could walk into bars at 16 without a second glance.  Now that he was in his twenties, his brawny figure suited him well.  Megan tended to look past his intimidating physique, knowing him as more gentle than most would think, but as she found herself wrapped safely up in his sturdy body, she realized one thing—death would not find such a strong man easily.  In that moment, she gave in eagerly to that comforting thought, tucking all ideas of his preordained death away into the back of her mind. 

“Why are you being so serious?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. 

            The day played out as most Mondays did for the two of them—class until 2:00 p.m., the campus bar for happy hour, where Megan managed to completely forget the haunting thoughts that had been following her, and then home.  Although it was Megan’s night to cook, too many White Russians meant Taco Bell and bed before sundown, but none of it kept the dreams away. 

“We should be quick.  I don’t know how much time we have.”

Megan ignored the older version of herself, like a defiant child would a mother.  She didn’t want to believe any of it was real, and being back here in another dream only validated the insane thoughts she was fighting all day long. 

“Megan!” the woman yelled as she turned her back.

“Look, I don’t want to dream about you anymore.  There’s no way I’m going to kill Eric, so just leave me alone.”

Megan saw the relief in her face.  “So he’s still alive.”

“Of course he is still alive,” she answered with frustration.

The woman looked at Megan half defeated, knowing she needed to get through to her before it was too late.

“Ok,” she said, reaching for proof.  “You’re going to go to the campus bar for Halloween dressed as Batman and Robin.”

“You’re part of my subconscious; of course you would know that.  You know what I know, that doesn’t prove anything.”

“That night, Eric is going to break his hand.  You offer to drive him to the hospital, and…” The woman was obviously uncomfortable reliving the memory Megan had yet to experience.

“And what?” Megan asked, unable to hold back.  She wished she could just ignore the woman’s claims and just believe these dreams weren’t real, but if there was even the smallest chance it was true, she had no choice but to go along. 

“You wreck the car.  You live, Eric dies.”

She tried to disregard the woman’s comment as though it didn’t bother her, even as her skin began to pulse and bead with sweat.  “So I just won’t drive.”

 “What if that’s not enough?  What if someone else wrecks the car?”

 “Ok, so I keep him from breaking his hand I guess.” 

“I want to test it, and it will prove this is real too, but it has to be something small.  I don’t know what will happen to me if you change things.”

The decision was simple.  Megan would do the opposite of everything she planned for the day.  She wouldn’t go to school, wouldn’t eat breakfast at the campus café like she did every morning, and wouldn’t work her night shift waitressing at Marisco’s. 

“Hey, we’re going to be late!” Eric’s deep voice bellowed from outside her bedroom door.  She would have ignored him, but his persistent pounding required some response.

“I’m not going!” she yelled back.

Eric burst in without invitation.

“Why?  You have an Econ test today.  You’re going, get up.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Eric to have to coax Megan out of bed, but this time her resistance was not out of exhaustion or laziness.  She thought about how to explain, but the truth seemed too absurd to say aloud.  My dreamt up future self told me to stay home today.  She wasn’t sure Eric would see that as a legitimate excuse.

“I don’t feel like it,” she offered.

He laughed, unconvinced.  “When does anyone ever feel like taking an Econ test?”

She thought about it, and an easy answer came to mind.

“When they’re on their period,” she groaned with feigned discomfort.  It was the one excuse he wouldn’t reject.

“Wow.  You really don’t have any personal boundaries do you?”

“You asked.”

“Well if you’re not going, I’m not going.”

“Really?” she beamed.  She liked the idea of them playing hooky together.  Besides, it was unplanned, just the thing to throw her future for a loop.

He shrugged.  “Yeah sure.  What do you want to do?”

“Stay in PJs, drink mimosas and watch marathon episodes of Seinfeld.” 

It was something she liked to daydream about when she was bored in class.

He shook his head with a smile.  “I love you Megs, but you are the worst influence.” 

“Oh, shut up and go buy the champagne already.”

It really was an awesome morning, maybe it was the thrill of knowing it was never supposed to be written into her life that made it so much fun, or maybe it was just the mimosa. 

“So, remember when I was asking if you believe in future premonitions?” she probed, feeling a little loose after a few hours.

“Yeah,” Eric answered, with Seinfeld commentary in the background.

“It was because I have been having these dreams, and my future self is telling me what is going to happen.  Crazy right?”  She laughed, playing off the comment casually. 

“Crazy,” he agreed, without taking it to heart.

“The thing is, I think it’s like…real.”

“You feeling a little loosey goosey or what Megs?”

The numb buzz of the alcohol was suddenly too strong, and Megan wondered if she’d said too much. 

“Yeah, you know what…never mind.”

The brush-off would have worked on anyone else.

“What?  You’re serious?” Eric asked, a little surprised.

She didn’t need to answer.

“Ok, so what happens in the dream?  What does she say?”

“That you die,” Megan answered, releasing the burden with a sigh, “because of me.”

Eric’s face was still, blank as a storefront manikin, and Megan couldn’t read his reaction.  Then suddenly all of his features lifted in amusement.

“That is officially your last mimosa.”

Megan couldn’t help herself, and they both burst into drunken laughter.  In that moment, when everything was so right in the world, it was hard to believe anything could go wrong. 

Eric fell asleep hours before Megan, but she let the episodes of Seinfeld run on, one after the other late into the night.  With the T.V. blaring and all the lights on, her eyelids finally began to sink right as the sun was dawning.  Then suddenly she recognized herself staring distantly from a park bench, and knew she’d finally lost to sleep.

“Did you stay home?” the older Megan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Nothing changed, or if it did, I didn’t notice.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea.”

They tried other things, things that seemed more drastic.  Megan quit her job completely, cut her hair to her chin, and bought an old yellow Volkswagen for $500, but her future never changed.

“What’s going on with you?”  Eric had asked.

“Nothing, just need a little change in my life,” was always her response.  She could tell he never really believed her, but what could she say?

When Halloween came, her whole chest was tight with worry, and from the moment she woke up her heart felt heavy and overburdened with fear.  She thought about how to approach the subject, how she would manage to stop the worst from happening.  The only answer she could think of was to be straightforward with him.

“Eric, if I asked you to stay home with me tonight would you?”

“What?” he answered in shock.  “Megs, you’ve been looking forward to this for months.”

“I know.  I just feel like something bad might happen tonight.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Is this about the dreams?  If it is, we’re going just so I can prove to you they’re nothing.”

“Even if it is about the dreams, you can prove the same thing by staying.”

“But we’re Batman and Robin,” he groaned.  “How cool is that?”

She smiled at her brilliant idea for them to be the pair.  “It is cool.”

“So?” he asked hopefully.

“Look.  I need you to stay,” she begged.  “As my best friend, I’m asking you to please just stay.  Please.”

It was to her benefit that he could never say no to her. 

“All right,” he agreed with a heavy sigh of submission.

Megan couldn’t hold back her smile as all the pressure released from her chest.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, you still have to wear the Robin costume, because I’m wearing mine.”

“Deal.”

The two of them camped out on the balcony to watch the night ensue.  Halloween in their college neighborhood was always a drunken riot.  Groups of dressed up students passed beneath them through the courtyard, yelling and laughing like gaggles of geese. 

“See what we’re missing?” Eric joked with a beer in his hand, clad in tight grey leggings and a bat cape.

 “No,” Megan answered honestly.  “I’m glad it’s just us.  I don’t really care about being with anyone else anyway.”

“Not even Randy?”

“Randy?  Randy who?”

“From Marisco’s.”

“What, the drunk guy that’s at the bar every night?”

“I thought you liked him.”

“Hello, he gives good tips.  A girl’s gotta make the money honey,” she said saucily.  “Why?  You jealous?”

“No,” he said too quickly.  “I just…I don’t know.”

His uncomfortable hesitance changed the atmosphere.

“You are jealous,” she observed with realization.

“Yeah, so what,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“Megs…” His tone alluded to the obvious.

It took a while for it to sink in, for her to fully register that there had been undisclosed feelings.  How had she never noticed?

“For how long?”

“A few years.”

“Shut up,” she scoffed in disbelief.

“Well, what do you want me to say Megs?”

She had been so stunned by the whole reveal, that she hadn’t really taken time to process whether or not she felt the same.  It made sense, they were close, they loved each other, but they were best friends.  If things went wrong, she could lose him, and that wasn’t worth it, not to her.

Too much time had gone by without words.  It was his opportunity, who knows how long he had waited to act.  He leaned in for their first kiss.

“Wait,” Megan reacted harshly, propelling her body up and away from the kiss.

Eric followed, moving in for his normal hug and apology.  “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, but she pushed him back, defensive and forceful.  It was an instinctive reaction, protective of their friendship.  If she let him too close, lines would be crossed.

She never expected him to stumble backward, never expected him to fall, so when he tried to brace himself against the broken rod iron, her reaction wasn’t fast enough.  She heard the metal snap under his weight, and saw the look of horror as he realized he would fall, but as her hands reached to catch his shirt, they only clutched wildly at the air.

“Eric!” she screamed, as she watched him hit the ground three stories below.  The sound was unnatural, sickening, and it stole her breath as though it had been her who had hit the cement, knocking all the wind out of her.  She stared motionless, her insides too hysterical to act.

No matter how hard she willed him to get up, he never moved, and it wasn’t until she saw the blood puddle into a halo around his head that she could manage to move. 

She grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as she tore down the stairs, if she could only get to him, maybe he would be all right.  Her frantic screams for help drew no attention, not on Halloween. 

“Eric, please wake up, please get up,” she begged, wiping her tears with blood drenched hands.  Even there next to him, his face still and lifeless, she couldn’t break through the disbelief.

“I told you,” she cried into his shirt, but her stifled moans brought no relief.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” 

He was gone, and she had done it.  The grief, dismal and heavy like torrential downpours of falling water, made her choke for air as she pleaded for him to wake—her face marked with blood, like war paint. 

After Eric fell, Megan spent most days and nights in sleep.  She was hoping for an answer, an explanation that would relieve her inescapable smothering guilt, but all she found was a black hollow void that left her with nothing.  She would never find her peace, not when the dreams had stopped.

His family didn’t press charges, or blame her, although she thought they should.  To Megan, it felt like the world should have stopped when he died, because there was no world without Eric, but people kept on, as if his life’s movie continued to play after the credits.  It wasn’t right, and when all formalities were said and done, everyone returned to their lives leaving Megan to fumble through the wreckage of her mind, alone. 

It was easy for people to say, “Oh, she’s grieving,” when she refused to talk, eat, or even function, but it was more than grieving.  The single word couldn’t possibly encompass all that she was dealing with, all the loose ends, the questions, the blame, and the dreams. 

*

It took Megan years to recover.  Even then, she never felt as though she’d moved on, but one husband and three kids later, Megan had found what most would consider to be happiness.  Though, a part of her would always wonder what might have happened if she were to have saved Eric.  If they had just been given the time to realize that they loved each other, maybe things would be different.  It was something she could never let go.  Years of therapy had taught her to stay away from the what if’s, but last night’s dream made that impossible. 

It had dropped her in the back of the bowling alley where she and Eric spent most of their Friday nights senior year in high school.  As soon as she recognized her surroundings, her eyes found him.  He was waiting his turn, eyes locked in a different direction, smiling a secret smile that he thought nobody could see.  Megan’s heart hammered with excitement.  Over the years, her subconscious had only plagued her with the last painful image she had of him, dead and cold, his blood on her hands, but here, he was young and alive.  Each subtle expression made her ache with loneliness.  She needed to go to him.

“Eric,” she said as she pushed her way through people to get to him, but just as she was about to call out, she saw who he had been watching.  It was her, ten years younger and untouched by the weight of his death.  Megan’s own youthful face, bright with naivety, didn’t hang with regret as she knew it would.  She worried for the girl, dreaded what she knew would come to her, and then wondered if it would be like before.

“Megan!” she shouted, and the young girl’s head turned in response.  Their eyes met, and hope was suddenly reborn.

Writing Music

Music really inspires me to write.  I remember (way back when sometime) reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  I don't know who gave me the book or really what it was about.  What I do remember was a reference to a song by The Smiths called Asleep (which is sort of a depressing song) but it was so out of the box and so new for me.  It made me want to find more secret songs like that.  Ever since then I have been on a search for secret songs that inspire.  Here is a small list of the songs that helped me write The Descendants, a few of which are actually mentioned in the book. 

Saves The Day - Hold
Foo Fighters - Everlong
Smashing Pumpkins - Tonight
Annie Stela - It's You
Andy Davis - Please Turn Red, Spontaneous
Cat Power - The Greatest
Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over

Right now, as I am writing my second book, I have Des'ree - Kissing You on the loop.  I need new songs though.  Feel free to share your favorites.  I'd love to know.

First Crack at Editing

If you haven't noticed, I've been off the grid for a few days. 

One reason, as you can see in my posts below, is that I have been in a place I like to call “Wedding World.”  There is still a ton to do and only about 11 more weeks to get everything buttoned down.  WOW…I literally just counted out the weeks, and my jaw practically fell off.  11 WEEKS??!!  AAAAAAAH!

The second reason is content edits.  Okay people…the editing process has officially started.  When I signed with ZOVA, I knew the first step would be a content edit, but I had no idea how challenging it would be.  I can't imagine many debut authors are excited to tear into their completed manuscript, changing major details of their novel, but it must be done.  Let me just say that when it is your first novel (or maybe even when it's your 30th) you grow attached.  After meeting with ZOVA on Saturday, I came home with a list of exciting ideas on how to make the book better, but when I sat down to edit, I froze.  That was followed by tears and blubbering to my fiancé about how I just can't cut this or that.  I swear I was an emotional roller coaster.  Ten minutes later I would read over the notes again and get charged about all the possibilities, delete half a chapter, type a new scene, then give up completely. ~UGH~

Good news is, I think I've figured it out.  I hammered out the details on the first two chapters and I love them.  Everything else should start to fall into place now that I have some big decisions made.

I really can’t believe how being attached to my writing blinded me from so many of the weaknesses in my book.  Once I got over myself, and embraced new ideas, and the suggestions from ZOVA, amazing things happened. 

I’m really hoping they like what I produce once I finish weaving my changes through the whole manuscript.  Thanks ZOVA for your attention, support, and most of all, your honesty.

One More Wedding Detail...

Wedding Shoes...Yeah.

Are you ready....

voilà!!!

Wedding Planning Extravaganza

Wow...busy weekend.  No sleeping in for me this Saturday morning.  We had a cake tasting in Palos Verdes Estates at 10:00.  Probably not such a great idea to plan a cake tasting for ten in the morning...talk about a SUGAR RUSH!  I was buzzing and bouncing around for an hour after trying about 8 different cake combinations.  No red velvet, too sweet.  No chocolate, too rich.  No banana bread, too weird.

I've been getting a lot of questions about wedding details, and after being at La Venta today...I just had to share.

Wedding Location (La Venta Inn):

 

Wedding Colors (Tiffany Blue and Cherry Red):

 

Flowers (Center Piece):

This is the actual dining area at La Venta

Our linens will be Tiffany blue and there will be a red rose at each table setting

Flowers (Fireplace and Fountain):

This is the actual fireplace mantel at La Venta

This is the fountain in the courtyard at La Venta and how it will be decorated

 

 

Bridesmaids (Dresses and Bouquets):

Bridesmaid dress - NOT this color

Bridesmaid dresses will be Tiffany blue

Our roses will be more "cherry" red

Sierra Booster Article

They printed it!  After days and days of bugging my sister on a near constant basis, I finally got to see the article.  Thanks Jan Buck for sharing my story.  

Sierra Booster is a newspaper serving the eastern sierras including but not limited to the Sierra Valley, Downieville, Loyalton, Sierra County and Portola, Graeagle, Quincy, Greenville, Chester, Lake Almanor and all of Plumas County. Our coverage extends to Truckee, Truckee Meadows Region, Lake Tahoe and in the North Reno Nevade area.

The Article:

JESSICA THERRIEN, former Chilcoot resident, is now a debut author promoting her upcoming novel, The Descendants.  She has recently signed her first publishing contract with ZOVA Books.

After attending school in Loyalton from kindergarten to high school, Jessica actually moved her senior year to southern California and graduated in 2003 from Glendale High School.  Jessica attended Cal State Long Beach for three years, where she says she discovered Chinese, and ultimately majored in it.  In 2006, she studied abroad for a year in Taiwan and developed her language skills further, and graduated from San Diego State University in 2008.

Jessica currently lives in Chula Vista with her fiance, with plans to be married on July 4, 2011, so her publisher suggested she use her soon-to-be married name, Jessica Therrien.

The Descendants tells the story of a young woman who discovers she belongs to a secret society of individuals with extraordinarily long life spans and unusual abilities.  Fearful of prophecies about their only daughter, her parents kept her hidden from the world and society as long as they could.  When their own untimely deaths leave her to fend for herself, the truth of her origins and fateful prophecy find her at last.

"What inspired my novel was my search for the next big thing.  After reading through the Twilight Saga, the Hunger Games Trilogy, the Harry Potter Series, I was eager to dive into something just as compelling.  After reading a few other Young Adult books, I just wasn't finding it, so I decided I would write it.  Being a fan of the genre, I felt I knew what people like me were looking for in a YA novel, and with an English teacher for a mother, I felt I had the education and ability to write an interesting story."

Jessica's paranormal romance/adventure promises to be the next fan-favorite in its genre.

Nothing Much

Nothing much is going on lately, but I feel compelled to write at least what is on my mind.

What I am obsessing about most these days is a potential story about me, including the press release, that may be coming out in my hometown newspaper, The Sierra Booster.  I know it sounds silly to be checking the online site every hour, and I really don't know why I am so excited about it, but I am.  When I asked if they would publish the press release, they seemed thrilled at the idea, and wanted more details about my life and a picture as well.  I sent over everything, and now I am just waiting to see what happens.  Luckily my sister still lives in Chilcoot, so I am calling her everyday, asking "is it there?"  Who knows, they may even decide not to print it, but if it comes out, I will definitely let you know.  We'll see.

In other news, I have been in touch with Jean Jenkins and the members of the Best Foot Forward workshop (part of SCWC) asking them to spread the word about The Descendants.  Jean is a well known and experienced freelance editor, so I am grateful to have met her at the conference.  Her most recent advice was to use this time, this period of waiting, to write book number two.  As soon as things pick up with The Descendants, and I need to focus on publicity, I won't have a lot of time to write.  That being said, I have been a  computer junkie...typing away, pushing past moments of writer's block instead of just walking away.  The process is slow (being a perfectionist, makes me a slow writer) but at least it is moving along.  I'm loving where the story is going.

Tonight I am going to have to pry myself away from the computer though.  I'm going camping with some friends, and I am so excited.  I won't be able to write much, but the story will still cook in my head, and maybe I'll come up with some good stuff.  Plus, I'll have lots of time to read!  Fun times here I come.