Megan Shepherd Takes the Truth

Today I'm answering a tough truth: What book do you lie to people about having read?

I’m going to be very honest with you guys, and admit something I never admit to anyone. Are you ready? It’s a doozy.

I haven’t read the Harry Potter series.

I can feel the shame crashing down on me already. It’s okay! Judge me! I deserve it! Here’s the thing—I adore the Harry Potter world. I’ve seen all the movies multiple times. I have pictures of Alan Rickman on my office walls. I’ve been to Harry Potter world theme park. I am constantly inspired by J.K. Rowling and have watched every interview and speech she’s done. I first knew Harry Potter was special when I worked in the mailroom at a boys’ summer camp. One day we got in 300 thick manila envelopes, because it turned out every single camper had begged their parents to send them a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on its release day. Camp activities (cool stuff like hang-glide training and windsurfing) had to be suspended so all 300 boys could sit down all over camp and just read straight through the book. It was magical.

I even own the entire series…see?

But I haven’t read them. Why? There is no valid excuse. I just started off with the movies, and loved the movies so much I didn’t want to read the books and spoil what was going to happen. (I’m going through the same thing now with Game of Thrones.) Then when the movies ended I had every intention of going back and reading the series, but by then I was writing full-time, and just didn’t have time to devote to pleasure reading.

There is a happy ending to this story, however. Now that the third and final Madman’s Daughter book is turned in, and I’m well under way for my next series, The Cage, I’m finally starting to have time again. And first up on my to-do list?

Harry Potter read-a-thon.

So now you know my secret shame. It feels good to get it off my chest. Hate me if you must, but let this photo of me with a butter beer mustache be proof that I really am a fan at heart.

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Megan Shepherd is a young adult writer living in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. She is the author of The Madman's Daughter (Balzer+Bray/HarperCollins) and its sequel, Her Dark Curiosity. The third book in the series comes out January 2015. She’d love to hear from you at her blog, Twitter, Facebook, or on Goodreads.

Alexandra Duncan Takes the Truth

I have a lot of guilt. It comes with being raised Protestant. So when I tell you about my guilty pleasures, you should know that I actually feel guilty about these things. Sometimes. (Okay, most of the time). It isn't just a turn of phrase.

Guilty pleasure #1: chocolate fruit

I will eat all kinds of chocolate fruit, but this is the kind I snack on most often.  ------------->

I tried to swear it off this summer, because chocolate is not good for you when consumed in great quantities, but I can usually talk myself into getting some anyway. Well, you need to buy some so you can take a picture of it for this blog post, I told myself earlier today before tearing into the package. You can't just go take a picture of it on the grocery store shelf. You don't want to be the weirdo in the deli taking pictures of sweets, do you? Point taken, brain. No, I do not.

Guilty pleasure #2: reality television

I'm in love with Project Runway and Face Off, which involves makeup artists constructing fantastical creatures. My husband will actually watch the second show with me, because it sometimes involves monsters.

The one show I've been really obsessed with lately, though, is Fatal Attractions on Animal Planet. It's all about people who are killed or mauled by their exotic pets. I'm not talking about hedgehogs or iguanas, although both of those can give you a nasty case of salmonella. Most of the people on the show seem to think they have a special relationship with their Bengal tiger or cobra that will prevent the animal from striking when they aren't looking.

Obviously, this is not how things play out. Given the number of times my housecat has attacked my feet in the middle of the night, I don't know how anyone could think things would go differently with a tiger.

Why do I like this show so much? Probably because when I was a kid, one of the stories I would always beg my mom to tell was the one about the teenager who broke into the Washington Zoo, stole a Gaboon viper, took it on a city bus, and then (after it bit him, naturally) had to be treated with all of the rattlesnake antivenin on the entire Eastern seaboard before stumbling back from the brink of death. She is a nurse, and was on duty when the paramedics brought him into the hospital. Her account was even more entertainingly weird than this New York Times article.

This is the show I watch to unwind in the evening. Sometimes I even fall asleep to stories about people being trampled by buffalo, partly because being raised by a nurse warps your brain a little bit and partly because I'm so tired in the evening. Which leads me to my third guilty pleasure. . .

Guilty pleasure #3: falling asleep on the couch

I have a lovely, comfortable bed. I sleep much better in it than I do on the couch. I'm much less likely to be sat up on by cats or wake up with a crick in my neck. And yet, there's something inexplicably wonderful about a couch nap.

Do you have a guilty pleasure? Tell us about it and you'll be entered to win an ARC of my book Salvage, coming April 1st! (No kidding.)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

ETA: Our contest winner is Xander! Xander, we've sent you an e-mail about how to claim your ARC.
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Alexandra Duncan is a writer and librarian. Her first novel, Salvage, is due to be released by Greenwillow Books on April 1, 2014. Her short stories have been featured in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy. She loves anything that gets her hands dirty – pie-baking, leatherworking, gardening, drawing, and rolling sushi, to name a few. You can find her online at Twitter, Goodreads, Facebook, and her web site.

Alexandra Duncan Takes the Truth

Sexxxy!

Some of you may remember from our post this past summer that I married my high school sweetheart. One of our readers asked us to describe the first time we ever went on a date, so of course my thoughts went straight to the first date my now-husband and I went on. We went to see What Dreams May Come and then, despite having just watched a movie about death starring Robin Williams, we kissed on the back porch of my parent's house. It was my first kiss, and I was so self-conscious that I don't really remember anything about it except that it happened and I was super excited about it.

My future husband and I having a picnic. I'm 17, he's 19. We don't yet know that Mountain Dew is disgusting.

But then I remembered an even earlier date, a date so early I don't really know if you can technically call it a date. But I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

In elementary school, I had a crush on a boy in my class named Keith.* He was blonde and skinny and grew up to be a drug addict, but at the time, we were two innocent schoolkids. On the second to last day of fifth grade, we decided we were "dating," and then proceeded to not see each other for the rest of the summer. We had only a tenuous grasp on the concept.

Likes to run. Not very nice to boys.

Toward the end of the summer before sixth grade, my aunt gave me a gift certificate for two tickets to a local movie theater. The idea was that one of my friends and I would go see a movie together for my 11th birthday. Only I wanted to take Keith. Despite some concerned looks, my mother agreed to pick him up and drive us to the movies. I don't remember what we saw, but I do remember challenging Keith to a footrace outside the shopping center while we were waiting for my mom to pick us up after the movie. At the time, I saw no reason to let a boy win a footrace against me, even if I liked him. I beat him pretty soundly and I doubt I was very nice about it. Not surprisingly, Keith decided we should "just be friends" shortly after sixth grade started.

So, I'll leave it up to you, readers. Which one of these was actually my first date?

Create your free online surveys with SurveyMonkey , the world's leading questionnaire tool.

*Of course this is not his real name.
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Alexandra Duncan is a writer and librarian. Her first novel, Salvage, is due to be released by Greenwillow Books on April 1, 2014. Her short stories have been featured in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy. She loves anything that gets her hands dirty – pie-baking, leatherworking, gardening, drawing, and rolling sushi, to name a few. You can find her online at Twitter, Goodreads, and her web site.

Mindy McGinnis Gets Polar Vortexed

Mindy was trapped in her home for six days recently, and decided to do a little Truthing via her Ask box on Tumblr.

Fandom Confessional With Natalie Whipple

I'm back! With my usual antics in hand—no crying like last time, I promise, even if this is another truth.

Erin Bowman Tells the Truth: inspirational writing music

I'm answering a truth today, one that touches on one of my favorite topics ever: MUSIC! The question:

What songs are most inspiring for you to write to?

I tend to listen to a lot of instrumental music when I write. (Something about hearing lyrics messes with my writing mojo--I start listening to the singer and ignoring my story.) What sort of instrumental stuff, you ask? Typically movie and video games scores, and, for lack of a better label, "epic" music.

Alexandre Desplat, Ramin Djawadi, Danny Elfman, Clint Mansell, Javier Navarrete, John Powell, Hans Zimmer--among others--are some of my favorite film composers.

For FROZEN, John Powell was my savior. While drafting (and revising), I listened to the Bourne soundtracks on endless repeat. Here's a favorite:


I have a sci-fi WIP that, at least so far, I've written almost entirely to Mansell's Moon score. The theme has this creepy, building quality to it that I just love. (Wait for it to kick in around 2:15. So worth it.)


The soundtrack for Assassin's Creed 3 (Lorne Balfe) is also incredible, especially for drafting other-worldly tales. (I listen to this a ton while tinkering on my fantasy WIP.)


But more often than not, I default to my absolute favorite writing music while working: the epic music. These are the artists whose albums I can play back-to-back for hours on end and always remain inspired, the songs that are moving, haunting, and dramatic. Pieces that stand apart and yet also blend so seamlessly they never jarring me out of my writing groove.

Atop my epic trailer music list are Audiomachine, Two Steps From Hell, and Thomas Bergersen (who's actual one half of TSFH). Any album by these guys is pretty much guaranteed to get you inspired. I would not have finished my first draft of TAKEN3 without this music. True story.

Some personal faves:











And lastly, this song from Audiomachine IS the final chapter of TAKEN3. I sobbed while listening to this track. Bittersweet, agonizing, gut-wrenching tears.


So I've blabbed a lot. Hopefully it was anything but boring and you've found a few new artists to add to your writing playlist(s). And since I'm always looking to discover new music, is there anyone in particular you love to write to? Leave me suggestions in the comments, please!

Jenn will be up next week to answer a truth or dare, but until then, you can always get your book-nerd fix on our Thirteeners tumblr.

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Erin Bowman is a YA writer, letterpress lover, and Harry Potter enthusiast living in New Hampshire. Her debut novel, TAKEN is now available from HarperTeen, and FROZEN releases 4/15/14. You can visit her blog (updated occasionally) or find her on twitter (updated obsessively).

Alexandra Duncan Takes the Truth

Long, long ago, in small town far, far away, I was an obsessive Star Wars nerd.*

I'm telling you this because Megan Shepherd dared one of us to talk about a time we wrote a fan letter to an author, and while I don't have any memory of writing to an author, I have a REALLY embarrassing story about writing a fan letter to George Lucas (creator of Star Wars) when I was twelve.

My Star Wars infatuation started sometime during sixth grade. My best friend was sleeping over at my house, so my mother sent us to the video store with $3 to pick out a movie to watch. We chose Return of the Jedi, completely unaware that it was the third movie of the Star Wars trilogy. We were OBSESSED. This was the greatest movie EVER. We had no idea why that guy was frozen in metal, but there was a GIRL trying to rescue him, and then there was a guy with psychokinetic powers, and there was an evil empire and a DEATH STAR. A Death Star, you guys!

We watched Return of the Jedi over and over again, possibly even on successive sleepover weekends, until my mom clued us in. "You know, there ARE other Star Wars movies."

This was an even greater revelation than discovering Return of the Jedi. We watched all the movies and spread the good news about the existence of Star Wars among our friends. Watching Star Wars during sleepovers became mandatory. By the beginning of seventh grade, we had formed a fan club called LECHY. (This stood for Leia, Ewoks, Chewy, Han, Yoda - all characters the founding members had adopted as their aliases for the purposes of anonymous note-writing.)

My 6th grade yearbook photo

Let me stop right here and explain that this is even worse than it sounds. NO ONE else in seventh grade was interested in Star Wars. This was in the mid-nineties, several years before anyone had even heard of the Star Wars prequels George Lucas went on to make. All self-respecting seventh-graders feigned disinterest in everything - except possibly Green Day - in an attempt to claw their way to a level of social acceptance that would allow them to avoid being peed on or having gum thrown in their hair during the long bus ride home. Liking Star Wars and creating a FAN CLUB surrounding said movie franchise? That was the absolute nadir of dorkiness.

By this point, I was so overwhelmed with Star Wars fever, that not only was I trying to develop telekinetic powers, making Ewok costumes for my stuffed bears, and growing my hair out to look like Princess Leia's,** I was inspired to write a letter to George Lucas. In pink, sparkly pen.

I don't have the letter anymore, for obvious reasons, but from what I remember, it went something like this,

Dear George Lucas,
Hi! My name is Alexa and my friends and I love Star Wars SO MUCH! We even made up a fan club that is called LECHY for Leia, Ewoks, Chewy, Han, Yoda! Let me gush on about the mechanics of our fan club and how much I love your movies for TWO ENTIRE PAGES!!!

The trouble was, I didn't have George Lucas's address. And while the Internet existed, we didn't have it at home and we were only supposed to use the computers at school for homework assignments. So, I found the address for 20th Century Fox on the back cover of my Return of the Jedi VHS tape, and sent it to George Lucas, c/o 20th Century Fox.

I know what you're thinking. There's no way that letter ever got anywhere near George Lucas. There's no way I ever got a response.

But you're wrong. Some kindhearted person passed it on to someone else at Lucasfilm, and then on to whichever department handles fan mail. Somewhere around five months after I sent my letter, I got a response from someone who was probably an administrative assistant at Lucasfilm, thanking me for my enthusiasm and gently informing me that I could send fan mail to them directly (address provided). She also slipped several Star Wars bookmarks in with her response, one of which was a hologram bookmark, the coolest thing ever for a nerdy kid when printed holograms were a new thing.

I know Star Wars is a money-making megalith, and we're not even going to talk about the prequels or the fact that HAN SHOOTS FIRST, but I'll never forget those bookmarks or that response, and how it made me feel like someone cared about me. Someone out there took the time to make sure my letter got through, and then someone else did me the small but immeasurable kindness of writing back. Sometimes little moments like that are enough to get a dorky kid with glasses and a bad haircut through the worst years of middle school.

I still have the bookmarks. I keep them in the top drawer of my writing desk.

* Actually, the last part of that statement is still true.
** A significant impediment to having Princess Leia hair: your mother cutting your bangs with toenail scissors.
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Alexandra Duncan is a writer and librarian (plus amateur photographer, crochet enthusiast, cinemaphile, and, or course, book fiend). She holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina at Asheville, and has been a frequent contributor to The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. She loves anything that gets her hands dirty – pie-baking, leatherworking, gardening, drawing, and rolling sushi, to name a few.Her first novel, Salvage, is due to be released by Greenwillow Books/Harper Collins in Winter 2014. You can find her online at Twitter, Goodreads, and her personal blog.

Mindy McGinnis Takes The Truth

by Mindy McGinnis

Blog follower Becky Sullivan provided us with the truth I'm going to take today - What's the worst or weirdest excuse you use to get out of writing when you have writer's block?

First, I'm going to clarify and say that I don't get writer's block. You can throw stuff at me if you want, but that's just the way it is. If my brain were a heating pad, it would always be set at H and my scalp would have third-degree burns. Luckily for my follicles, this is not the case.

But I'm going to modify the question a bit and then give you a real answer that also deals with bodily functions.

Q: What's the weirdest excuse you use to get out of writing?

A: I have to pee.

No really. I do. I probably have to pee as you're reading this. I know I had to while writing it. Peeing is one of those things that I'm able put off for quite some time without any lasting detrimental effect to my renal system. I know at least one person (ahem, RC Lewis) is going to reply to this and tell me that I AM doing damage to myself, that I simply just don't know it yet. Anyone who hangs out in the AgentQuery Connect chat room will tell you that I don't really pee that often. It appears that my bladder is roughly the size of the Hindenberg.

Also there are rich people in it.

And in using that rather crude metaphor, I have probably sealed my fate and my bladder will in fact, explode at some moment in the future. Rather unexpectedly, I'm sure.

Below you'll find screencapped proof of my refusal to pee when necessary, as well as proof that I'm often guilty of over-share.

You're probably thinking to yourself - Um... Mindy, you're kind of proving yourself wrong here. The whole point of this post is that you're supposed to share what your weirdest excuse is for not writing, but you're telling us you're perfectly capable of holding it?

Yep. Exactly my point.

If I'm getting ready to lay down (yes, long story) and write, very often I'll settle in, put my fingers to the keyboard... and run to the bathroom to relieve the tiniest of tickles. Why?

Because I'm terrified.

I'm afraid that for whatever reason, this time when I put my fingers to the keys nothing is going to come out. I'm afraid that someone flipped the cosmic heating pad switch in my brain and my little red light has been extinguished.

So far, it hasn't been true. I take the pee, my renal system looks around at the circulatory system and says, "What the hell? I hadn't even gotten started!" and I return to the keys. With an empty bladder the heat waves start rolling out of the brain without any excuses.

Maybe someday I'll learn to skip that first part, stop making the excuses and simply write.

But then my renal health might plummet.
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Mindy's debut, NOT A DROP TO DRINK, is a post-apocalyptic survival tale set in a world where water is rare, available from Katherine Tegen / Harper Collins September 9, 2013. She blogs at Writer, Writer Pants on Fire. You can also find her on Twitter, Tumblr & Facebook.

Megan Shepherd Takes the Truth

Alyssa Sooklal asks: Are you going to publish your books in hardcover and paperback, as well as ebook? Just hardcover or just paperback and ebook? Or just ebook?

We’ve gotten a few similar "truth" questions about e-books: our feelings about them, about e-readers, if they mean the death of independent bookstores or if they're wonderful because they save trees. It seems like e-books are on everyone’s minds. Today I’m tackling this issue with a confession. Yes, I admit it.

I own a Kindle.

Battle of the Books: E-reader vs. Real book

You see, my family has owned an independent bookstore since before I was even alive, so print books have always been more than just a hobby for us: they were our bread-and-butter. As an author, I now make my living writing books regardless of the final format they’re in: print, digital, audio…the bottom line is more or less the same for me.

Also, it gets worse! I actually own two Kindles.

It’s tough admitting this, because so many people I know are die-hard print book readers and in the “e-books will be the death of the independent bookstore” crowd. I still prefer reading print books. But there are a few times when I find my Kindle indispensible. First of all, for travel. YA books are usually quick reads, and I could go through 4-5 of them on a vacation easily. That’s a lot of suitcase room. Second, e-readers are great for digital ARCs. Publishers can send me ARCs directly, which saves on printing, shipping, and marketing costs, and means more people can get ARCs and spread buzz about books.

But the main reason I use my e-reader isn’t to read published books at all. I use it mostly to read my own drafts. When drafting a book in Word or Scrivener, it’s hard to read double-spaced 12-point font  and visualize what it will look like as a final book. So I load all my drafts onto my Kindle, where I can read them as if they were already a real book, and it helps me see the places that are weak and still need work. This has made an enormous difference in my own writing.

All this said, I still prefer print books. Whenever possible, I buy a print book or get it from the library, instead of ordering a digital copy. E-books are often cheaper and instantly delivered, which is a perk, but I just don’t enjoy books as much when I read them on the Kindle. I recently felt as though I was going through a spell of lackluster books, only to realize the books themselves weren’t the problem…reading them on a screen was. When I went back and re-read the hard copy of some of those books, I enjoyed them so much better.

I also don’t think e-books mean the death of print books. My fellow writer Stephen Messer posted this quote from a recent Wall Street Journal article, which I love:

"Half a decade into the e-book revolution, though, the prognosis for traditional books is suddenly looking brighter. Hardcover books are displaying surprising resiliency. The growth in e-book sales is slowing markedly. And purchases of e-readers are actually shrinking, as consumers opt instead for multipurpose tablets. It may be that e-books, rather than replacing printed books, will ultimately serve a role more like that of audio books—a complement to traditional reading, not a substitute."

So there you have it: the truth. I own two Kindles. And I love my Kindles—for certain situations. But there is no substitute for holding a real book in your hand, and having a bookshelf full of cherished books.

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Megan Shepherd is a young adult writer living in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Her debut novel, The Madman's Daughter, comes out January 29, 2013 from Balzer+Bray/HarperCollins, and is the first in a Gothic thriller trilogy. She’d love to hear from you at her blog, Twitter, Facebook, or on Goodreads.

Kristin Bailey Takes the Truth

Today we have a great guest truth from author Kristin Bailey, whose book Legacy of the Clockwork Key releases in March from Simon Pulse as the first in a steampunk-inspired trilogy. Our clockwork hearts are beating harder already!

Here's more about Legacy of the Clockwork Key:

When a fire consumes Meg's home, killing her parents and destroying both her fortune and her future, all she has left is the tarnished pocket watch she rescued from the ashes. But this is no ordinary timepiece. The clock turns out to be a mechanical key—a key only Meg can use— that unlocks a series of deadly secrets and intricate clues that Meg has no choice but to follow. She has uncovered evidence of an elite secret society and a dangerous invention that some will stop at nothing to protect, and that Meg alone can destroy. Together with the handsome stable hand she barely knows but hopes she can trust, Meg will be swept into a hidden world of deception, betrayal, and revenge. The clockwork key has unlocked her destiny.

Kristin took this question, submitted by Elodie: How did you reveal to your friends/family that you were an aspiring author?

I always loved the game Truth or Dare, but I will confess to being a bit of a chicken while playing, so I was usually a “Truth” girl.  In all fairness, this had a direct correlation to the nasty imaginations of some of my friends and their talent for thinking up truly humiliating dares.

So, how did I confess to my family that I was an aspiring writer?

The truth is, I didn’t.

I was outed.

To fully appreciate the delicacy of my dirty little writing secret and the furor that ensued, we need to travel back in time, oh, I won’t confess how many years exactly, but it was that weird and terrifying time in my life known as the day I graduated from college.

Suddenly, the pressure was on. I figured I’d get my teaching credential, settle down as a middle school Language Arts teacher and call it a life. But the further I went along that path, the more dangerously depressed I became. Eventually my roommate at the time, who happened to be writing a book, blithely suggested I should write a book, too.

I will never forget it, because in that moment I remember feeling this pull deep in my chest, like some cosmic strand of the universe had just threaded itself through my soul. That may be a little over the top, but sometimes it pays to listen to these sorts of things. So I followed that voice in my head that said “Yes! DO IT!!!” and I wrote a four hundred page novel.

Dear God, it was awful.

But I had accomplished something wonderful and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a calling. So what did I do about it? I kept it my deepest most treasured secret. I had no intention of telling anyone, especially my Mom.

Now here is where I feel I need to interrupt our story for a little disclaimer in defense of my mother, whom I love very much. She had a rough time growing up due to her father falling deathly ill as a child. Consequently, my mom is a little bit of a personal financial security freak, and frankly, I can’t blame her. Unfortunately, my whimsical soul never followed her line of logic.  I wanted to be an animator for Disney! She talked me out of it. I wanted to be a veterinarian for a zoo! She talked me out of it. It didn’t matter what childhood dream I had, the first thing out of my mother’s mouth was always, “That’s great honey, but there are very few people who ever make it in that profession. You need a secure job that pays enough so you can support yourself.”  To this day, I’m not exactly sure what my Mom was trying to say to me, but I can tell you how my brain twisted it around (if those were even really her words). What I heard in a constant refrain from the youngest age of my childhood was, “That’s a nice dream, honey, but you’re not going to make it. I don’t want to see you fail, and that’s what’s going to happen. So, why don’t you just drop it before you get hurt and do something safe, like teaching.”

Once again, and louder this time.  Mom, if you are Googling me and this comes up. I know you didn’t mean it that way and I love you with my whole heart. You’ve been my biggest cheerleader, and I couldn’t have gotten to this point without your support. Thank you, Mom! Love you!

Okay, back to our story.

So, with my new found passion for writing, I decided I would be an author, and I knew exactly what I would hear if I told my Mom about it. Writing as a profession is not exactly known for its high success rate and steady paycheck. I decided that writing meant too much to me to let anyone, even people that I love, take it away from me by feeding my self-doubt. I needed to believe in myself, so for the first time in my life, I asserted my independence by keeping my dreams with the only person who could make them or break them, me.

Naturally, this didn’t last too long. Writing a book is exciting and I had to tell someone, so I told my future sister-in-law. Feel free to insert your own little strain of ominous music right here.

Sure enough, one evening, my Mom was lamenting to the rest of my family that I seemed so lost and I didn’t have passion for anything or any sort of direction for my life. That’s when my sis-in-law chimed in. “Well, she’s written a book.”

“I think I heard the “WHAT?” from my apartment ninety miles away.

The next morning, I answered the phone and found myself in the middle of one of the angriest phone calls I think I’ve ever received. It went something like this. (My memory might be slightly fuzzy, but you get the idea.)

Mom (angry voice): Your sister was over for dinner last night. She said you wrote a book!

Me (calm, but inside hearing the Scooby-Doo ‘Ruh-Oh, in my head): Yeah, I have.

Mom: And you’re going to send it publishers?

Me: That’s the idea.

Mom: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!!!!!

Me (after a sigh and a pause where I gathered more courage than I’ve ever had to muster in my life.): Because I knew what you were going to say, Mom, and I didn’t want to hear it.

That is the moment where I became an adult. Very few people are lucky enough to know the exact moment they turned in their ticket to Neverland, but I do. With those words, I knew in my heart that I was responsible for my own successes and my own failures, and I wouldn’t be afraid of either. I knew in that moment I could choose the path of my own life and I could decide what I wanted to do with it even if that path was difficult and frightening. In that moment, I stood up to someone I loved and respected and told myself that I loved and respected my own wishes even more. That was the moment that my future became my own, and it was amazing.

My Mom was stunned into silence. I’m afraid I may have gut punched her. She confessed later that she was very afraid I would cut her out of my life, and that was the line in the sand. She decided to be supportive of my writing career and keep her fears to herself no matter what, so long as I was safe and happy. She’s been true to that promise ever since. That book never sold, (I told you it was awful) and my mother was right along with me through all of that frustration, but then she was just as big a part of the joy when I did sell, and now she couldn’t be more proud

So what’s the moral of this story? I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure I’ll lose points with all my fellow Moms out there if I say it is, “Don’t listen to your mother.”  So, instead I’ll say this. Don’t listen to any voice that would doubt you. You are the only one who can decide what your fate will be and your own determination, persistence, and strength in the face of adversity is what will get you there. People can stand on the sidelines all they want and say, “You’ll never make it.” You are the only one who will determine if that is true or not.

The game is only over the moment we stop playing.

So, good luck in whatever your dreams may be.

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Kristin Bailey likes adventure and pumpkin pie. She has also confessed to a weakness for Jelly Bellies. When she’s not writing, she stays busy as a military wife and mother of two young children. She also has a tendency to spoil her pets.  Her debut young adult novel, Legacy of the Clockwork Key will arrive on bookshelves on March 5, 2013. 

You can learn more about Kristin and her book on her website, Facebook and Twitter.