I've always loved to write, ask my junior high buddies and they'll tell you that instead of parting it up with them every weekend, I was at home writing in my notebook.
My first story followed the outline of an X-Men movie. What young teen wouldn't want superpowers while they forge through puberty? I was a young girl named Angel who had telekinetic powers in addition to being able to read minds (an homage to Jean Grey, my favorite character) who had no real friends and no family ties. So much angst! Finding old drafts of this book isn't as much a blast from the past, but more of a big-bang-like feeling. How can something that I wrote so long ago say so much about who I still feel like today?
Writing continued to get me through my adolescence. First was
Not Normal Anymore, followed by
Drama Queen Society, a brief detour to write the play
Mafia Princess, then
Three Years Later, then
According to Me, and currently in the works is
The Other Love Story.
Being the self-obsessed diva that I am (NOT!), I'm always in every one of my books, however, my role in this new book is in fact in-direct compared to past works. For once I'm focusing on the stories from other people's points of view. Where did this great and terrible idea come from? Obviously heartbreaks and heartaches prompt us to do ridiculous things with our free time to avoid feeling feelings. Anyway, the right way for me to move forward is to write about why other people can't move forward, or something like that. Wish me luck!