Someone I love a lot went through a failure recently.

I started to reflect on my own failures in life.

I’ve had a lot. Too many to count.

I remember being in the 3rd grade and I was the only kid that couldn’t read yet. When my class had silent reading, I had to leave with Ms. Liz so she could help me. I was so embarrassed. In third grade I remember thinking somehow I’d failed life because I couldn’t read yet. I struggled with reading until the end of 4th grade.

In 7th grade I missed the game winning shot that lost us the championship. I thought I’d failed my team, my coach, my family.

In 8th grade I did the same thing.

When I took the written exam for my drivers test, I failed once before I passed. When I took the behind the wheel test, I failed.

In college, I failed tests. Didn’t pass classes.

Lost more basketball games.

I’ve had failed book releases.

I’ve seen a few reviews on

Amazon for my books that weren’t kind. They weren’t constructive. The kind that made my stomach turn and made me question why I write in the first place.

I failed a lot at life in my alcoholism. Too ashamed to admit I had a problem. I almost let it take my life away.

But life isn’t about failure. It’s about what we do after we fail.

I always got back up. I dusted myself off, and worked even harder.

I practiced reading every single night. I wasn’t going to be the only kid in 5th grade that couldn’t read.

I practiced free throws and three-pointers an hour before practice and an hour after practice.

I did more reading, practiced my writing craft, educated myself, followed what others had done before me. Attended conferences. Taught workshops. Read more. Took classes. Wrote more. I worked my ass off and hung that review above my writing desk until I didn’t care about her words anymore.

And, finally, I found recovery in my alcoholism on November 9th, 2009. I talk about my alcoholism because it’s a big part of my story.

I. Didn’t. Give. Up.

And I won’t let society define what failure and success means to me.

I get to decide.

My biggest failures, my greatest heartaches, have become my greatest assets.

And success, to me, is defined as being better today than I was yesterday.

That’s it.

And I still fail. And it’s OK.

So for those of you who’ve experienced failure recently, dust yourself off, get to work, and be a better today than you were yesterday.

It's Cover Reveal Day for the fourth book in the Granite Harbor series! Pre-orders are up, edits are being finished and I'm really excited for you to read this one. Really, really, really, really excited. Once I finish a book, I always say, "Yeah, I think this one is my favorite." *FACE PALM.* But I do really like this one. I hope you do too!

DETAILS:

Series: Granite Harbor

Book number: 4 (but each book in the Granite Harbor series can be read as a standalone BUT I'd definitely read Lilies on Main last)

Releases: July 30th, 2019

Preorder links: Amazon: https://amzn.to/31bbzsS Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2W7izDu Kobo: http://bit.ly/2JWC6EW iBooks: https://apple.co/2HUmcZC

-blurb- For bookstore owner Lydia Townsend, another geographical move doesn’t faze her. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash at one more curveball thrown into her life plan. Five years running from a man who broke her heart, and her spirit, has taught her to keep her walls up.

Scared to trust again, Lydia swears to keep all men off limits. Even Aaron Casey, who seems too perfect to be true. With a daughter to protect and a life to build, she simply can’t afford to let her guard down.

But when William Davis, a seventy-something recovering alcoholic, steps into Lydia’s bookstore for the first time, holding the secret to saving both of their lives, she might have to learn that trusting a man with her life is just as dangerous as trusting one with her heart.

It's been since January that I last updated my blog. Wow. That went by quick. Anyhow, just wanted to give you all a quick update of what I've been up to!

First, the cover reveal and blurb reveal and pre-order for Lilies on Main will be June 6th. This is the fourth book in the Granite Harbor Series. In this book you meet Aaron, Ethan's (from Magnolia Road) twin brother and Lydia, the bookstore owner of Rain All Day Books. As with all my books, it's twisty and emotional, with some suspense sprinkled in.

The release day for Lilies on Main is set for July 30th so mark your calendars!

Also, I have a standalone coming out early November titled THE LIGHT WE SEE. This book is like no other book I've written before. The ending just about broke my heart, in all the right ways.

With that said, I'll leave you with a snippet from Lilies on Main:

That night, when I walked her back to the bookstore, she kissed me. It wasn’t just an ordinary kiss. It was a kiss that was half on my mouth and half on my cheek, as if she meant it to be that way. Her lips, soft, gentle, expectant, they stayed on mine only for a few seconds. I didn’t want to move, push her away, so instead, I gently placed my hand on her hip, pressed my fingertips into her side to let her know there’s more to this kiss on my end. When she pulled away, she apologized. I told her there was no reason to be sorry. That I kissed her back and that I’d steal another one if she’d let me. I saw the regret that stained her eyes, as if she’d let herself down, so I simply let her hip go, because I knew that’s what she wanted. She said goodnight and walked upstairs.

All my best,

j.

I’ve done a lot of self-reflection in the last fourteen hours.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Crying isn’t something I do well. In fact, I hate it. But, I’ve learned when I cry, something inside me changes, evolves. I’ve learned crying is a good thing.

Why do we run from movies, books, that we know will tap into our emotions?

A Dog’s Purpose, Beaches (remember that one?), Beautiful Boy, Saving Beck, The Fault in Our Stars, My Sister’s Keeper, because I was too afraid to feel. Beautiful stories that will no doubt tug on our hearts, we run the other way—why?

Fear of tears?

Fear of vulnerability?

Fear of feeling? ( Ewwww….I was guilty of this for a long time)

Fear of what others will think?

Fear of where the story will take us with our own thoughts, our own lives?

I know 90% of my worries (I don’t have many these days) are based on fear, and they’re usually fears that are out of my control anyway. If it’s something I can’t change, why hold back and keep myself from experiencing the beautiful things?

3 of my top fears:

I can’t change the fact that cancer exists. I can’t change the fact that people make awful decisions. I can’t change the fact that accidents happen.

But what I can change is the way I look at things. I can have an open mind today. Willingness. I have control to feel through things today and not avoid/run away from because of fear that keeps me bound to self.

I didn’t want to go see A Dog’s Way Home, but my children wanted to go see it. I knew to go into this—I was going to ugly cry. I’m so grateful I went. I’m so grateful my children got to see a powerful movie. I’m grateful they got to see my tears. Watch me suck back air because of the power of a great story. The little eyes that watched me while I wept. And you know, I cried in this movie over the profound, beautiful moments: friendship, love, commitment, perseverance amidst awful circumstances.

When I push through fear and allow truth, I’m exposed to a whole new layer of self, and the most beautiful thing happens—I learn something more about life, about me.

Today, I’m grateful for stories that bring this out in me.

I love this quote from Mike Posner’s new song, Move On:

I feel pain, I don't want to But I have to, yeah, I have to If I want to move on...

Happy Tuesday, friends!

(My ego wants to tell you that this is unedited and posted before 7am.) 😂🤦🏼♀️ #workinprogress

Good morning, friends!

Well, it’s that time…the kids go back to school and this momma goes back to her big-girl job. While it was a wonderful break (aside from the awful sickness that plagued our house for two weeks) I did few things for myself that I don’t normally do.

I slept in.

If you don’t know me on a personal level, I’m usually up at 4:30am plugging away at my latest novel.

For me to sleep in is like—the world is caving! What in the hell is happening? Jenn is doing WHAT?

At any rate, I had to force myself to stay in bed until 7am without a computer, and a phone.

You know what?

It was nice.

Really nice.

So nice in fact that I’m not sure how I’ll get back into my 4:30am wake up call. LOL! But, it will happen because I have a writer’s heart and my brain works best in the early morning hours of the day.

2. I took a break from book stuff.

You guys, I felt SO guilty. So guilty. But I’m glad I did it. It helped refresh and rejuvenate my mind. We, as humans, can get so bogged down with the idea of:

GO.

WORK.

GO.

WORK HARDER.

GO.

FASTER.

LONGER.

GO.

It was really nice to just be. Nice to just be in the present moment with my family. I did do a few things, but not like normal. <3

The only thing I didn’t get done was reading. While I had the idea to read A LOT before I started the next book in the Granite Harbor Series, sadly, I didn’t read—but! I’ve added to my TO-DO list for 2019 as a priority.

2019 is a brand new year. Make it your best year. Remember to do things for yourself. I know as a mom, a wife, and a professional it's hard to find to balance.

Find some time for YOU.

All my love,

j.

I'm always in awe of this indie community. The way we help one another. An author friend once said to me: Bloggers, authors, and readers who love your work will have your back and want to help you.

Today I'm blown away.

I absolutely love this community. Thank you to all of the bloggers, readers, friends, for helping spread the word about Magnolia Road.

When I first started writing the Granite Harbor Series, I wanted something romantic, light, something different. I knew I wanted floral covers and a dominate color for each cover. That's all that I gave my cover designer (the amazing Hang Le). She's masterfully created my covers and every time she sends me the proof--I become a puddle on the floor--in a good way. <3

Huge, gigantic, massive hugs for Hang Le. You are incredible. I adore you! Thank you!

Huge, gigantic, massive hugs for Nazarea and the team at InkSlinger PR. From the most beautiful graphics to the 24-hour support--you all are amazing and I feel truly blessed to have you on my side.

I hope you enjoy the next installment of the Granite Harbor Series, Magnolia Road, due out on January 29th.

All my best,

j.

With a new year--comes a new book series.

Oh, wait. What? It's April?

Right.

Well, with the first of spring comes a new book series.

Here are my release dates for nd blurb for the first book in the series titled Peony Red.

Also, I've included what you can expect next from Standing Sideways.

Check out my April newsletter below:

Standing Sideways releases January 30th.

I'm like:

All the proceeds from this book will go to the Jason Dale Triumphant Return Scholarship at College of the Redwoods. For more information on the scholarship, copy and paste this link into your browser: https://goo.gl/vidrFH

It will be free in Kindle Unlimited (KU) YAY! That means it will be exclusively available on Amazon only. For those not in KU, it will be on sale for .99 cents (ebook) until February 6th. After that, the ebook will bump up to $3.99.

If you love Standing Sideways, please write a review. That is how this book will gain the visibility it needs to raise more money for the scholarship. Extra YAY!

My goal, for this book, is to raise as much money as I can for a scholarship that I care very deeply for. I know Jason is soaring in heaven right now, grinning, at the fact we're giving back. Giving back to the second-chancers.

We just awarded the scholarship this fall to a man that made me cry in his application. He talked about his struggles, his amazing milestones, but most importantly, he talked about grace.

And his thank you letter? Don't even get me started! 😭

The world is full of second chancers.

MARK YOUR CALENDARS! JANUARY 30TH!

My best!

J.

With her third release (almost) out this year, Devney Perry is on a role. She’s quickly moved to my one-click, pre-order category. And, you guys, not only can she write great romances, but she’s also super sweet. And she has great hair.

I started The Lucky Heart (book 3 of the Jamison Valley series) when she asked her author friends if they’d like a sneak peek. I said: DOES A BEAR…..I'm not quite sure I worded it like that but to say the least, I was excited.

Oh. My.

Oh. My.

OH. MY. GERRRRRRRD!

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I started The Lucky Heart on 7/30/17 and finished on 7/31//17 with tears. I’m not a crier in books!

YOU GUYS! I’m a wife, a mother, I work a big-girl job, and I write books. How in the heck was I going to function without reading the first two books in the series (The Coopersmith Farmhouse and The Clover Chapel) with everything I have going on in my life?

HOW?

Well, we make time. Because that very same day I finished The Lucky Heart, I started The Coopersmith Farmhouse.

Dear goodness…DEVNEY PERRY FOR PRESIDENT!

At any rate, now a huge DP fan (sorry, Devney, that’s your nickname now <3), I wanted to know more about her, and she graciously agreed to answer my questions.

All right, Devney! Here we go:

1. Lipstick or lip gloss?

Lip gloss. Usually in pale pink.

2. Right now, what’s in your purse?

A diaper. A pack of wipes. Blue swimming goggles. An apple sauce pouch. About a thousand pens-none of which work. Oh, and my wallet.

3. If you were an animal, what animal would you be and why?

A puppy. Unless you can find an animal that has a better life than a puppy, because then I’d be that.

4. Who was your first crush?

A boy in my seventh-grade math class. ** sighs ** He was so cute. Unfortunately, I wasn’t even a blip on his radar. I was, erm . . . awkward as a pre-teen. I grew out of it but not until years later after he had already moved away.

5. Did you have real-life people in mind when you wrote Silas and Felicity’s characters? If so, are you willing to share?

Not really. I’d say that Felicity’s feisty spirit was inspired somewhat by my own. Silas was just the character that came to me. The ranch setting is probably the most real “character” in the book. My husband’s family ranch in Central Montana was a big inspiration for the setting.

6. What’s your writing routine?

Routine? What’s a routine? I write whenever I have a free moment between chasing kids, cooking meals and playing chauffer. Mostly I write early in the morning or late at night.

7. Do you listen to music as you write?

Does Disney Junior cartoon music in the background count? If so, then yes, I listen to a lot of music when I write.

8. Is Prescott, Montana similar to the place you grew up?

Not where I grew up but it is similar to a real-life town, called Ennis, Montana. Ennis is my dad’s hometown and I spent a lot of time there as a kid. It’s a super cute town, and if you’re ever in the area, it’s worth the stop.

9. If you could have lunch with anyone (Gandhi, Oprah, Colleen Hoover, your BFF, etc.) who would it be and what would you order?

The entire cast of Friends but I would require they be in character. What would I order? Pizza. Or Tacos. Or pizza. No wait! Ice cream.

10. Favorite book and why.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I love the mystery and the love story. I love that you never learn the main character’s name. (Whoops. That was kind of a spoiler if you haven’t read the book.)

11. Is Ben (from The Coppersmith Farmhouse) based on a character in real life? Love that man, by the way. LOVE HIM!

Nope, he’s all fictional. But I love him too.

12. What made you start writing books?

Honestly? I was bored. That, and going a little crazy at home with my kids. I'd just quit a very demanding job and had my youngest son. I was reading a book a day-or more-and it just wasn’t cutting my need for a mental challenge. So, I opened up a Word doc and started writing away. Let’s just say the first draft of The Coppersmith Farmhouse was . . . rough. I still have a lot to learn but it has been so much fun to try.

13. You wrote so many vivid scenery scenes from The Lucky Heart. Are those similar to the Perry Ranch? If so, the Baileys are moving in, just so you know. ( ;

Yes! There are a lot of similarities between Silas’s ranch and the Perry Ranch. It’s a beautiful place–come and visit!

14. Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Plotter. I like to know where I’m going.

15. How long did it take you to write each book in the Jamison Valley series?

The Coppersmith Farmhouse took about nine months from start to publish, but it wasn’t continuous writing. Most of that time was spend editing. The first draft took about two months to write, but it was crap. Even now, I read it and want to change things. There was a lot of back and forth with my editor during those long months (seriously, she is a saint!) and a lot of time spent refining. The Clover Chapel was faster-about six months. I spent less time editing, but still that was the bulk of my writing time. After that, I approached writing with a bit more structure. The Lucky Heart and subsequent books have all had more defined schedules – that’s because of the Project Manager in me. I spend about two months writing and self-editing and then kick the draft off to my editor. We go back and forth for about a month to get things just right. The three-month schedule works really well for me right now, and I doubt I’ll ever try to go faster than that-at least not until my kids start school.

16. Who’s your most favorite character you’ve written so far? Who’s your least favorite?

Least favorite: Everett.

Most favorite: Maisy.

17. When you started writing the Jamison Valley series, did you know which characters would have their own books?

I didn’t until after I finished The Coppersmith Farmhouse. Then I decided to make the series a five-book series and picked the characters who would get their own stories.

18. Which authors are on your one-click list?

To name a few (because the list is long): Nora Roberts – yes, even at $14.99 for an eBook Mia Sheridan, Colleen Hoover, Harper Sloan, Kylie Scott, Alessandra Torre, and Rebecca Yarros.

19. In honor of your third book release this year, do you want to share the third picture on your camera album? Hehehehe.

Here you go.) He doesn’t like hats.

Awwww! What a cutie! <3

In honor of Devney's release (AUGUST 15th, AUGUST 15th, AUGEST 15th, people) and because I loved this book so much, I'll be giving away THREE ebooks of The Lucky Heart. To enter, just comment on the *pinned*post here.

To buy the rest of the books in the series (trust me, you won't regret it and you'll NEED them once you're done with The Lucky Heart, click below:

BUY HERE: The Coopersmith Farmhouse

BUY HERE:

PRE-ORDER HERE: The Lucky Heart

And guess what? The final two books in the Jamison Valley Series will be released in November (The Outpost) and in January (The Bitterroot Inn).

PRE-ORDER your copy HERE: The Outpost

PRE-ORDER your copy HERE: The Bitterroot Inn

I know you all will fall in love with Devney's work just like I have. I am so excited for you meet Silas and Felicity in The Lucky Heart!

Happy Reading!

HAPPY (almost) Release Day, DEVNEY!

All my best,

j.

Beta readers have a tough job. The beta readers for Standing Sideways are mothers. They work full time. They cart kids to and from. Some are coaches. Some are volunteers.

They have lives outside my 80,000 words I've asked them to read.

Beta readers are test readers. They tell you what's working in the story before you take your baby and throw her out into the world and yell: SWIM!

Of course I hope they love the book, but more importantly, I want them to tell me what's not working about the story. Not every Amazon reviewer is kind. Some are buttheads just trolling around like Great White sharks, waiting to rip someone's work apart. So, I give my books to my betas entrusting that they will give me invaluable feedback that the Great White sharks would devour otherwise.

Standing Sideways is a book I started about a year ago after the passing of my cousin. Cousin seems too removed, too loose-leafed. He (Jason) along with his twin, Michael, and I were the three musketeers, so our family called us. Raised by single mothers (who are sisters), we were raised together more like siblings. It was ten years later that our two other cousins (Jessica and Jacob came along). We're a small family with five grandchildren total.

When Jason was killed, I know something died in all of us. It's a personal journey, grief. Everyone is different. Nobody grieves the same. My way of processing the grief was through words.

It took me 70,000 words to find the voice of Livia Stone. That's a full-length novel. Once I found her voice, I started over and scrapped the 70,000 words. I wanted her voice to be mine, but also, not mine. I wanted her to tough. And brave. Weak in moments--no--many moments. I wanted her to find her own path, not my path. I wanted the story to be fiction. Many of the pieces in Standing Sideways are fiction. But many are not. Taken from my childhood with Jason and Michael. Other parts stolen from the vestiges of my crazy imagination.

But these parts are true:

-The time he saved me from drowning.

-The stupid toast he used to eat with butter, sugar and sprinkles, that made me want to gag every time I watched him eat it.

-The time he told me that I was better than the decisions I was making in my life at seventeen years old.

-All the times we used to travel door to door selling our shitty hand-drawn artwork at ages 8 and 9.

Too many to list, and I don't want to give too much of the book away.

Anyway, a week and a half ago, I sent Standing Sideways to my beta readers.

I prayed.

I laughed.

I prayed some more.

But one thing kept coming back to me: Stay true to who you are.

While I like to believe I stayed the course with that saying, I haven't. I wavered. Had a mix of emotions. Wondered if the loved it. Hated it. Cried. Thought: cheeseball, and rolled their eyes.

A week and a half of anticipation, I just heard back from a beta reader last night.

Remember how they all have lives? Remember how their lives don't revolve around the huge 80,000 word gorilla I'd just sent them?

Here's what the beta reader said:

I cried when I read this.

You see, I followed my heart. My passion for words.

I grieved.

I wrote.

I grieved some more.

I followed that little voice inside me that kept pushing me along.

Standing Sideways is about addiction. Love. Heartbreak. Patience. It's about standing in our own truth and the ultimate price we may have to pay to do that.

All (yes, ALL) the proceeds for Standing Sideways will be donated to the Jason Dale Triumphant Return Scholarship set up at College of the Redwoods. If you'd like to find out more about the scholarship, click here:

Okay, now I'm rambling.

Follow your heart.

Trust your gut.

My friend Elisa says: Art takes courage. I'm not sure if she wrote it or not, but--ugh. These words were a direct hit to my heart.

ART TAKES COURAGE.

ART TAKES COURAGE.

ART TAKES COURAGE.

Remember that.

Now, HAPPY FRIDAY, Everyone!

Best,

J.

Oh my gosh, it's been since February that I've written a blog post.

Life is busy.

Two kids.

A husband.

Two cats.

And a fish.

Little league baseball groupie.

Taxi driver.

Snack lady.

Lunch maker.

Self-appointed dugout mom.

Writer (by heart).

Life is BUSY.

But I still make time to write. I have to. If I don’t, I get cranky.

While I finish up the first round of edits for my latest book, I’m reminded just how serious I take my writing time. I write from 5:30am-7:15am. I take it so seriously that my hair is always half way done, eye shadow is optional, and my clothes usually require minimal to no thought.

I’m like: Hey, I'm ready for work!

I’ve never been a night-time writer. For whatever reason, my brain works best in the early hours of the morning.

I’m like:

5am? Perfect!

we make time for the things we love.

But that's the truth for anything, right? If we are passionate about something:

bicycling (more power to you)

working out

running gardening

painting

drawing writing

coin collecting (what?) reading

WE MAKE TIME

or we die a slow, uncreative, sad, un-passionate metaphorical death. Right?

Here are my questions for YOU:

What's your passion?

Are you making time to fulfill your passion?

If not, why not? If we don't, it can make us:

-irritable

-unhappy

-restless

-discontent

And maybe you'll find yourself like this:

Stop thinking about all the things you want to do and START DOING.

Remember, goals are not achieved by giving up.

Now, go forth and do what you love, and I'd start by getting some coffee.

Happy Thursday!

Best,

J.

As a writer you have aspirations, it’s natural, that your book, your baby, your novel will be the next Twilight Saga, the next Hunger Games, the next big thing. Though, it wasn’t my sole purpose when I wrote Black Five, to sell millions, there was a tiny little thought in the back of my head that said: what if? But I found myself, as I wrote the book, just wanting to make a difference in kids’ lives.

Now, there are three very important days in my very new writing career that I will always hold close to me:

First, the Rejection from Jodi Reamer’s assistant, Alec Shane, at The Writer’s House in New York City. Most of you are probably thinking: Who in the hell is Jodi Reamer? But many of us in the book world are like: JODI REAMER!

Allow me to name drop (and not out of pride). Just so you get the caliber of her name and the phenoms she works with!

Stephanie Meyers

John Green

Ransom Riggs

...just to name a few.

Reamer serves as their literary agent, the one whose job it is to sell their books to publishing houses.

Perhaps it was the mention of Black Five and Jodi in the same email, I’m not quite sure. Because, you guys, it wasn’t a form rejection. It was an actual personal note from Alec, her assistant. Hi, Alec! *Waves excitedly from California!*

Why do I mention this you might ask? Not out of pride, or ego. It was a rejection after all, right? Why talk about a rejection?

For two reasons:

The Writer’s House is one of the oldest literary agencies in the country. One of the most prestigious. It’s like Cal Tech to the Ivy League. Steve Jobs and Bill Gates to the computer domain. And the woman who brought us Harry Potter, Ms. J.K. Rowling to the literary world. Many literary agencies get thousands of submissions per day. Thousands. They call it a slush pile. All too often (and I’ve received many) a form rejection (a generic ‘thanks but no thanks’) is often followed by a submission. But folks, not on March 3rd, 2015 for this novice writer. And here’s something else, many times, there’s no rejection at all. As noted on agencies’ websites: If you don’t hear back from us, consider it not a fit for our agency.

JODI –FREAKING-REAMER!

I have the rejection letter framed and in my writing room.

2. It gave me hope.

Many more rejections piled in after that.

What did I do with the 29th rejection? I ate it. Just kidding. I didn't. But I saved every last one.

But like a dear friend said, “J, all it takes is one person to believe. Stay humble. Find joy in the little things.”

It was tough. But I did. And if I broke it down the basic idea of why I wrote the book, it was simply this: to give kids a place to escape after school.

Well, I found someone who loves Black Five just as much as I do. Which leads to my next most important day—the day I signed a four-book deal with Poorhouse Publishing without an agent.

I was scared as hell. And excited. And tearful. But, I knew the Publisher had the same direction as I did. I knew we’d work well together. And we have.

And the final date, the one I hold very close to my heart, was my first piece of fan mail which I received on a Wednesday of 2016, after Black Five was published. It was from a girl named Dena. It was complete with red glitter. I cried like an idiot. Because, see, I’d met my goal. Impressing kids at the tender ages of 11-15, keeping their attention is tough—trust me, I have two nieces (ages 11 and 15) and with their snap chats, their Instagrams, their tweets, it’s hard to keep up!

Who knows, maybe one day, I’ll write another story and give Jodi Reamer and Alec Shane a ring (not literally of course). An email. A tweet, perhaps?

All this to say, at the end of the day, don’t give up hope. Follow your dreams. This shit is tough, stay encouraged, weed out all the loud noise, the voices in our head that tell us we aren’t good enough.

Write a book.

Sell it.

Go back to school.

Travel.

See the world.

Query Jodi Reamer.

Apply for a job at Apple.

Run a marathon.

Whatever it is—DO IT. Now is the time. Don’t wait.

There’s a quote I love:

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

— UNKNOWN

Now, I’m not saying you’ll die tomorrow. But don’t sit on thoughts, on dreams, because the “what-if-I-can’t-do-it” factor.

Now’s the time. Shut off the inner-critic inside of you and take the leap.

Do you think Steve Jobs knew what his future held?

Don’t you think Harriet Tubman (my hero) knew she had a tall order ahead of her in rescuing thousands of slaves?

Do you think Veronica Roth knew the gem she was sitting on?

And for the love of all things holy, don’t do it out of greed—do it because it’s in your heart.

Because in the end, it isn’t about money or about what others think about you, it’s about dancing to your own music and doing what’s inside you—and living a fulfilling life!

I highly doubt God is sitting at the Pearly Gates with a clipboard and The Heaven Checklist:

-how much money did you make?

-what kind of car did you drive?

-how many people did you impress?

“Perfect, you’re in!” God said.

Not.

At.

All.

And please remember, a dream without action is just fantasy.

Work hard.

Stay humble.

And don't give up, there are dreams to be lived!

My best!

J.

I try to do writing prompts every morning. Here's one I did yesterday morning.

The prompt: Describe what you looked like at age 5:

Surely my mother must have gotten the memo, the email, the fax, the message in morse code, that came in when I was five from God.

Dear Lynn,

Don’t cut Jennifer’s hair short. It will cause her great insecurities in adulthood.

Hope things are well.

Love,

God.

I had freckles in my ears, on my nose, across my cheeks and in places most people don’t have freckles (according to Shannon Biggen, class bully). I had big lips and thick boy-short brown hair and a cowlick right up front that screamed cheap hair gel.

The day my picture was taken in kindergarten, my mother put me in a bright blue and white frilly dress.

Two things I hated most at age five. No, three: frilly, dresses, and pictures.

And I was an awkward kid with lots of questions. As if I was unaware of my age and my stature in this world (right, like a kid at 5 has stature) I’d ask anyone who would answer me:

-How old are you? -How many children do you have? -What do you do for a living? -Will you go to the store today? What will you buy?

My mother would say, Jennifer, don’t be nosey. It’s rude.

Now, in my five-year-old mind, I wasn’t being nosey, I was curious.

Kindergarten was a rough year. Aside from the boy-short hair, Shannon Biggen’s constant ‘boy’ comments to me, I decided one day that my Care Bear underwear were overrated and had to go. I was tired of feeling restricted. So that morning when my mother did the usual--did you brush your teeth, did you put on underwear—I lied—about the underwear part.

It was later in the day that I jumped on the swing, spread my legs and launched myself into space, that Miss Lowery promptly called me off the swings, called my mother and explained that I needed to wear undergarments when I wore a dress.

And this is how my life continued, just an unfortunate set of misunderstandings that could be explained if someone would have just asked.

How I got from my looks at age five to running free with nothing under my dress, I have no idea. A glimpse into the mind of a writer, I guess. And, too, don't take yourself so seriously today. Also, don't wear underwear and ride the swings, metaphorically speaking, of course. ( :

She sat in the corner of the room, waiting to be noticed, for someone to invite her to dance, to drink, to visit.

She sat alone because no one wanted to be near her. Like the plague, once she attaches herself to someone, it's over, so people think.

Everyone knows she's a bit of a bear, feared by most of the world. Maybe if she's ignored, people think, no one will have to say hello. Or goodbye. But between hello and goodbye, perhaps, there's dance. A goodbye dance, a tango, that if she's encountered, there's a mutual agreement that she won't return anytime soon.

I wouldn't say I asked her to dance. It was a covenant. A treaty. A promise, that if I ask her to tango, she leave as quickly as possible.

But she didn't. She stayed awhile, lingering in the jungles of my heart. Feeding on my tears like a midnight Twinkie, attaching herself to my thoughts. And while for a time, I felt her take steps back, the year-mark was tougher than I thought it would be.

HIS face began to fill my newsfeed. Words like:

Massacre.

Slain.

Victims.

Murder.

RIP. One-year anniversary of killing spree.

Words no family should have to attach to a loved one who has passed.

These words pushed her into overdrive, feverishly working on her next attempt to consume me.

I asked her to dance again. And if I am to be honest, she never left in the first place. She just moved back to her corner, into the darkness and patiently waited. On occasion, she'd quietly move to the middle of the dance floor and call me out. And I accepted. Again. Because what's that old saying? THE ONLY WAY AROUND SOMETHING IS THROUGH IT.

Yeah, that.

She'd push.

I'd feel.

She'd push.

I'd feel.

She'd push.

I'd feel.

She has a name. HER name is GRIEF.

Acceptance doesn't come easy, but willingness might. It did for me. She and I began to work as a team. She'd move to the middle of the dance floor when it was time to feel once again. The ever-dreaded feelings. I'd feel her coming for days. And when it was time to tango again, I'd do it. But only because I had to. Because I knew if I didn't feel through it, she'd follow me and slowly peck away at me, waiting for me to breathe again.

While we all have experienced grief in some way: loss of a job, retirement, loss of a relationship, loss of a house, divorce, moving, loss of spirituality, and loss of a loved one--there's human emotion in that loss: sadness, anger, loneliness, shock and disbelief, emptiness.

I wanted to scream at HER: LEAVE ME ALONE!

Because that's exactly what I wanted--to be left alone. STOP FOLLOWING ME, I'd want to yell.

Soon after Jason died, at a family briefing of lost loved ones at UCC shortly after the shooting, a pastor came in and tried to give us HOPE. HOPE, in that one day, our hearts would feel more human. That we weren't alone in this. In that moment, we (my family and I) were in such a state of shock, it didn't register until long after. But that day he talked about waves of grief. Some waves will huge, some smaller, but, he said: we need to embrace the waves and feel THROUGH them. Don't jump over them, he said. Don't duck under them, stand tall and have them push against you. FEEL THEM.

YUK.

But that's exactly what I did. That's exactly what WE (my family and I) did.

It's been a whole year and six days since Jason left--and it still feels like yesterday--yet--years ago. Is that weird? Sometimes I swear I hear his laugh. It was somewhere between a giggle and a clearing of his throat.

The waves have been big, but they've also been small.

My daughter was three when Jason died. He loved kids. When we returned from Oregon, to find our new "normal," we were at an early morning soccer game. There was a empty field that served as our beautiful backdrop. The fog lingered atop the tree line like a knitted afghan. My daughter, who sat in her chair, immediately stood up and pointed to the empty field and said:

MOMMY! THERE'S JASON!

I didn't know what to say. I leaned into to her, my tears caught somewhere between my heart and my throat. I said: Do you see Jason?

She looked at me, confused. "You don't see him? He's right there, Mommy."

Immediately, I pulled her into my arms and let the tears trail down my cheeks. "I don't see him, Baby. But I'm really glad you do."

That night when I tucked my daughter into bed, I asked her if she'd seen Jason before. She was quiet for a moment. But she looked to the corner of her bedroom and slowly nodded as her a little grin spread across her face. "He stands there sometimes." I said, "Does it scare you?" Her grin got bigger. "No. He's watching over me, Mommy."

I share these two very personal stories for two reasons:

1) I know, now, that when our loved ones pass on, they're still watching over us (keeping us safe) just as my three-year-old daughter explained to me that night.

2) I wish I could have the eyes of a child so that my view wasn't so tainted. This has taught me to keep an open mind, to be aware, to have faith because there are signs everywhere that they're with us. I encourage you to look around. Sometimes our hardened hearts don't allow us to see the beauty of death because we can't see through our sadness.

Do I still struggle? You bet. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Jason. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my cousin Michael (Jason's twin) and my aunt. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the nine other families that lost loved ones that day. I ask God why these terrible things happen. I QUESTION ALL OF IT.

But what I found in my grief, because it's a personal process after all, I have a greater compassion for others and the shoes they must walk in. I try to live without regret, because there was a lot of regret after Jason died. I have more spirituality than I have ever had before. And today I'm GRATEFUL. My heart still aches, but that means I'm feeling THROUGH the waves.

So, this tango with her, with grief, has led me to acceptance. Not everyday, but the majority of the time. And one of the biggest gifts has been I've been able to watch Julie, a UCC survivor, heal. If you don't like her FB page, you need to. Here's the link: https://www.facebook.com/JulieWoodworthUCCSurvivor/?fref=ts

I cannot begin to imagine what the survivors, the ones that lived through that cold October day one year and six days ago, must face. I have faith that each survivor will go on to do great things in spite of what happened. Pastor Randy Scroggins (told to him by a Douglas County Sheriff) who gave Jason's eulogy said:

WE WERE VICTIMS ONCE, WE WILL NOT BE VICTIMS AGAIN.

I'll leave you with some song lyrics from my favorite ANDRA DAY:

And I'll rise up I'll rise like the day I'll rise up I'll rise unafraid I'll rise up And I'll do it a thousand times again And I'll rise up High like the waves I'll rise up In spite of the ache I'll rise up And I'll do it a thousand times again

Link to the music video:https://youtu.be/kNKu1uNBVkU

Jandy Nelson.

Colleen Hoover.

I'm not sure where to start. Perhaps at the beginning.

I'm not a book reviewer.

I'm not qualified. I'm not qualified because I didn't pass the secret test that all book reviewers take in order to be bestowed the covenant title: Book Reviewer.

No, I just kidding.

But, I don't write reviews simply because here's what happens. My five stages of whatever-you-want-to-call-it once I've finish an amazing read:

Stage 1: Day One:

DISBELIEF.

Seriously, did you guys just see that? What the hell happened?

I started on page one and now--I'm done?

Stage 2: Day Two:

DENIAL.

I did not finish the book. Please, someone tell me it's all a bad dream.

I want to go back to the worlds of Lennie and Joe. Lily and Atlas.

Stage 3: Day three:

ANGER.

Please, nobody touch me. Leave me alone. I just need a minute.

Seriously. There isn't a sequel? Another book in the series?

What do you mean it's a freaking stand-alone?

Stage 4: Day Four:

ACCEPTANCE.

It isn't pretty.

Still working on ACCEPTANCE.

I LOVE YOU COLLEEN HOOVER AND JANDY NELSON!!!!

(Use Rocky's tone when he yells "Adrian" if you see fit)

Thank you for giving me a new perspective.

Stage 5: Day Five:

RECOVERY.

Pull back the curtains.

Open the windows.

Let the sunlight in.

The road is slow, but it's one that's traveled quite often.

The first smile since I've finished. I will preserver!

At this point, I don't want to re-live the last five days. So, I end up picking up another book to help me forget about the past days. And the two to three days prior to that during my reading process. And now? I cannot write that review because I'm not sure I want to feel through the harsh realities of these past days.

I should really write a review though, I tell myself. It helps the author, I know.

SHIT.

I’m writing a new book.

The content is heavy.

It’s heavy because a lot of it is true.

It’s raw.

It’s real.

It’s me.

It’s fiction.

It took me seven months to get to a point where I could even start to wrap my mind around the subject.

Evilness.

Real life.

Heartache.

Loss.

Insanity.

Love.

Importance.

Hatred.

Sadness.

Healing.

I spoke with a colleague several months ago. He said, “J, you’re struggling. Write about it.”

But I couldn’t. My tears, my grief wouldn’t let me see through to my heart.

Why are you writing this book? If it hurts so much, why put it out there and revisit the pain?

Said my amazing husband, attempting to hold his wife’s heart in his hands, nurturing it, protecting it from the world.

Almost immediately, my response: to help others and to help myself.

One my dearest friend’s uses our hero, Harriett Tubman, when she speaks around the United States. Harriett Tubman went back once she was free, to save thousands and thousands of slaves from a life full of anguish.

Now, in no way shape or form am I comparing myself to the brilliant and kind and courageous Ms. Tubman, but the acts she did to save others, (humanity and grace are two words that come to mind) gave me the encouragement to write this book. I want to go back and tell the others:

Here is my experience. Here’s what I’ve learned. I am with you.

If it’s one thing I’ve always done correctly, I’m a trial and error learner, you see, I have always followed my heart.

Sometimes the price is worth the pain. And more times than not, it’s worth carrying a message.

I listened to a speaker yesterday and she talked about making ourselves vulnerable.

Ouch.

What a yucky word. Right?

But then, she said:

By making ourselves vulnerable, we heal. And then we help others heal.

The life situations that we experience that cause these feelings might be different, but our emotions are humanistic. Right?

Alas, another book, a book very personal to me, has navigated into my mind and to my heart (finally), the words thrown up on a page for the world to see.

My hope, with this book, we will call it ‘untitled’ for now, is that it reaches into people’s hearts and connects not just with grief and loss, but more importantly, healing and forgiveness.

Trust me, I don’t always want to forgive, sometimes I just want sit in my own shit, but I can’t stay there. I can’t live there because, then, I cannot be the wife, the mother, daughter, aunt, friend or cousin I want to be. And these feelings, although totally valid, will turn into something beautiful someday.

I have faith in that.

Always love,

J.

Seriously, guys.

I'm really bad at updating my social media sites, really bad.

I should be fired from social media and having readers that I interact with. The truth is, I LOVE YOU GUYS. Without you, I cannot do what I love.

So, here I am, asking for forgiveness and giving you a little update about what I've been up to.

Ready?

1. I sent, Crimson Lace, book two of the Black Blood Chronicles, at the end of March, to my publisher. I feel like I've been on summer vacation.

2. My family and I went to Hawaii in April. It was awesome.

This was me, surfing a pipeline.

Just kidding. Not really. I'm terrified of deep ocean water. If you've read Black Five, when I wrote the scene with Penn in the ocean, I almost died.

3. I read Eleanor and Park. OMG. Have you read it? You need to. I'm awful at writing book reviews. Terrible. Even if I'm head-over-heels for the book, I don’t write them. The reason?

Anyway, you need to read Eleanor and Park if you haven’t yet.

4. I’m taking a break from the Black Blood Chronicles to write a stand-alone novel about some personal subject matter. It’s a story that’s near and dear to my heart. I’ll keep you updated on that project in the near future. AND! I’ll post a blurb soon, and the title. When I come up with one.

Anyway, I’m on summer vacation until the edits for Crimson Lace comes back.

HAPPY MONDAY!

I’m supposed to be editing Crimson Lace.

But instead, I decide to take a picture of my cat, Leo. He sits here, waiting for me to pet him. He’s really needy and handsome. I talk to him in my kitty voice. He hates it.

I need to get back to editing. But I can’t focus. Here’s my head right now:

I wonder when the books will be here?

I hear a cricket outside. Is it supposed to rain today?

I pick up my phone to check my weather app. But, invariably, I end up on Facebook.

Why did I pick up my phone in the first place? I don’t remember so I set it down and try to buckle down and get focused.

Dude…I need to do something with my toenails. They’re awful right now.

Was that the UPS truck?

I’m hungry.

My arms are dry. I need some lotion.

I tell myself to focus. I hate editing.

You see, writing the book isn’t the hard part, contrary to popular belief. It’s the editing that makes my fingers unwilling and makes me think about my ugly toes and my cat.

But then I remember my reward for finishing the edits to Crimson Lace.

Are you ready?

I’ve outlined a stand-alone novel and will begin to write the manuscript as soon as I hit ‘send’ button on Crimson Lace.

So, I’m back to square one…editing.

I stare at my keyboard.

I stare at the screen.

The damn cursor is teasing me, blinking incessantly waiting for my finger strokes. It hasn’t moved in a good 12 minutes.

Is that the UPS truck?

I wonder if the books will be here today?

Ohhh! I just received another email. I'll check it and then buckle down.

And the whole damn process starts over again.

Editing sucks.

I’d rather trim my toenails, obviously.

Chances are if you’ve pre-ordered an ebook copy of Black Five, it should be sitting on your device at midnight tonight.

No matter what happens, I’m so damn proud of Black Five. So proud.

I’m in awe of how far this book has come. At times I wanted to give up. I wanted to walk away. I wanted to pull my hair out. Scream. Cry, even.

But something deep inside said, keep going.

I don’t regret a single decision. Even if the worst reviews are written, the best reviews written, I overcame my fears and put the story out there—to the whole world.

I didn’t write Black Five for reviews. For likes or dislikes. I simply wrote it to help kids cope with their realities. To have an escape when life gets tough.

Bottom line? I believe in Black Five with my whole heart. And I love this story.

Love. This. Story.

I had a conversation with my husband the other day. I said, “What if people hate it?” He shrugs. “What does it matter?” I thought about it. Nothing. Not a single thing will change. I will still have this beautiful life with this amazing husband my two little gifts from God (my children). “Nothing,” I said. He smiles. “Then you have your answer. We still have each other and that’s what matters.”

After today, nothing will change. I’ll have a book out there for people to read. I’ll still coach my son’s soccer team, and take my daughter to dance. I’ll still clean the cat box and change the sheets on Sundays.

That’s it.

I could not do what I do without all of the love from this Facebook page, colleagues, friends and family.

Huge thank you to Poorhouse Publishing for believing me, and this story.

OK…Whew…Here we go…

Can I share with you? A day in the life of a MWWP. I know what you're thinking. What in the hell is a MWWP. Let me explain. I often write in the weeeee hours of the morning. Before the rooster struts his feathers. I try--never--to write in the evenings. Editing, yes. Writing, a big no-no. Why? Beacuse I come up with words things like: MWWP. Why? Beacuse after 7 p.m. my brain is mush. Guts. And doesn't work worth a damn.

So, what is a MWWP? Mother. Wife. Writer. Professional.

Welcome to my life.

My alarm goes off at 4:50AM

Here's me:

It's now 5:30AM and I'm like: WHERE'S MY COFFEE?

I get ready, make lunches for my children and now it's time for me to sit down and write from 6am-7:30am. So I get my pink writing pen (AKA my computer) and get to work on that word count.

After that, I drop the kids off at school/day care and head to my big girl job. And then I'm all:

WE'RE LATE!!!! LET'S TAKE A SHORT CUT!

Now I'm at my big-girl job where I I evaluate transcripts for eight hours a day, Monday-Wednesday.

I pick my children up at 5:15 then it's time to cook dinner, baths, books then bedtime.

By this time, it's 8pm, my children are in bed, and my husband's like: HONEY, WHY DON'T YOU GET SOME WRITING DONE?

I'm like:

Because at this point I'm a crazy mad woman. But what do I do?

I try. I try to write something....

But this is all I can do....

By this time, it's 10pm...and I'm done. Toast. So I pack my butt up and head for bed.

A MWWP's life. Glamourous, right? I wouldn't trade it for the world.

HAPPY HUMP DAY FRIENDS!

Cover reveal for BLACK FIVE, the first installment of the Black Blood Chronicles will be July 15th! Check out my Facebook, Twitter and Instagram pages for opportunities to win a signed copy of BLACK FIVE.

Anyway...I don't use this blog portion of my website very often. That has to change. I wrote a book for crying out loud. I must have something to say. Right?

Let's see...okay. As I type this, I've just finished up working on my website. My cat, Chicken Dinner, lays next to me. Funny thing, his name. His official name is Vinni. Although over the years, he's gone from: Vinni, to Binner-Binner then down to just one "Binner." Then back to Binner-Binner and then added: Chicken-DInner. And now? Just "Chicken Dinner." Don't ask me why. But I think he likes it. I guess. He doesn't seem to mind it. Chicken DInner is an odd duck--or--cat rather. We always know when an earthquake is coming because he goes MIA for a few days before. He's got some emotional stuff going on, although, I think we've solved that with cat nip. Maybe. We will see.

OH!

We have two cats, actually. The other one's name is Leo. He hasn't gone through an entire metamorphsis of names. It's just Leo. One syllable. One L. One E. One O. He's huge. He's probably the size of two cats. From having tea parties with my daughter to watching NASCAR with my husband, he's a pretty easy going cat. All he wants is his wet food, cat treats and ice cream.

OH MY GOODNESS...I have just become a #catblogger ! INSERT WIDE-EYED emoji here.

I will stop. Really? Cats? Who let me near a computer tonight?

Done. Good night!

OHHHHHH! Don't forget BLACK FIVE cover reveal on July 15th!

Best!

J.

I wrote a book.

Simple as that.

I’m not the best writer in the world, nor the worst writer in the world. I am an amateur writer that simply would not give up. I honed my craft and worked countless hours to allow my book to take on meaning—not just for me but also for my readers, hopefully.

Life is about taking chances. I was terrified of people reading my work. T-e-r-r-i-f-i-e-d.

What will readers/the industry think of me?

What will they say?

They will hate it, I know.

Perhaps they will say ‘please, spare us the time. You should never write again. It was horrendous.’

I remember in fifth grade, Mr. Feldman, the band teacher, explained to me, very kindly, that maybe I wasn’t cut out for playing the saxophone. I was crushed. I hauled this huge saxophone around with me everyday. I practiced and practiced. Perhaps I might suite better in sports, he said.

I gave up on the saxophone that day.

But with writing, it’s something that exists deep inside me. A story must be told. A vision unveiled, a lesson taught, a heartache explained, a love lost, ghost sex, whatever.

Gotcha, didn’t I?

Sometimes I question the higher being’s will for me.

Can I make it in this industry?

Can my heart handle all of the feedback? Can it handle the taste of critizism? Because surely not everyone will love what I write.

Will this change the course of my family’s life?

Will it be a total flop?

Here’s the deal. I don’t know what the future holds. Bottom line. All I know is that I love to write books. I overcame a big fat fear to put my words out in the public’s eye—opened myself up and exposed my heart, veins and all. And it’s terrifying but I would rather live with my heart’s desire than lived wrapped up in ‘what if I would haves…’ Fear can be a scary place to live. Fear can eat you alive if you allow it. It starts in your head, because that’s where our fear grows. Then it spreads to your heart, then your guts, then eats away at your limbs until you are paralyzed.

So, on that January day, I got a break. I GOT A BREAK! A publishing house offered not only accept my first book, but the three that follow. That I haven’t written yet. That I need to start working on. See, here goes that fear again.

Did I get rejections? You bet! I don’t think you can work in this business without one or several. There are more to come, I am sure of that.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ll say it again, I’m not the best writer in the world or the worst writer in the world; simply, someone believed in me.

It’s in my opinion that we, as humans, with a beating heart, discount our abilities or make light of them. I think we don't give ourselves enough credit. If we have a little faith and take the leap, overcome the fear, and get out of our heads—I think we can do great things.

Always love,

J.

Stage 1: CONFIDENCE You hit "send." Hell yeah, feeling good! I think I nailed it.

Stage 2: SELF DOUBT You open the document again. You know you shouldn't but you do. Maybe, no! Most likely, you missed a period, or a comma, misspelled a word like "consummation" which comes out "constipation." You decide to read through the document again.

Terrible idea. Terrible.

Because as you do you find little mistakes.

Your body breaks out in a cold sweat. And your heart feels like it's going to explode.

Stage 3: SELFISHNESS Oh, God. It's 3 o'clock. Surly, by now, I should have received some sort of feedback. Right? I mean, they've had the book for three hours now. It should be the center of their universe (sarcasm intended).

Stage 4: SELF PITY I'm going to see if I can retract the email and scrap the whole thing. Why the heck did I ever decide to write a book anyway? This is stupid.

I suck.

Stage 5: FEAR You can't retract the email. And you can't focus. You know your BETAS hate it and they are trying to think of a nice way to tell you the book is crap.

Your phone dings and your heart leaps out of your chest and runs into oncoming traffic, not literally, of course. But really, you secretly wish it could because that will feel far better than the anguish you feel at this moment.

It's a text from a BETA reader. But you can't open it. You can't. What will it say?

Oh, dear lord.

But you do.

It reads: OH MY GOODNESS! Phenomenal. I cried. How do you do this?? This is going to be huge. HUGE!

Your heart stops (it's a good thing).

STAGE 6: RELIEF You get tears in your eyes.

You moved a reader and you like to hear how you made them cry. Sick, you know.

You give it a minute or two. You let the words settle into your heart.

And then you think, oh, sweet mother of--there are five other readers.

And the whole process starts over....

Lesson for the day: Make fear your bitch. Follow your heart and don't let your head get in the way.

Never, ever—by any means—attempt to open super glue with your mouth.

Ever.

Here’s how it went:

I busted a nail by attempting to shut my car door this morning.

It hurt.

Really bad.

It hurt so bad that I said a few choice words under my breath thinking it will alleviate the hot burning sensation in my finger.

It doesn’t.

I carry super glue in my purse for situations like these. I grab it and notice that the opening is sealed shut.

What do I do you ask?

WHAT DO I DO?

Here’s what I did: I use my mouth to open the super glue.

And what happens? It explodes in my mouth.

My lips, on the right, side are super glued shut and the panic sets in. I cannot move the right side of my mouth. I’m pretty sure there’s super glue in the back of my throat.

In a matter of seconds, here’s my thought process:

-What if the super glue closes my throat? Omigod.

-What if I can’t breathe?

-What if I’m allegoric to super glue and it makes my throat swell shut? And my kids? They’re in the back of the car! Who will get them out if I die?

Thank goodness a voice of reason rolls around in my head “Jenn chill out. You can breathe. You’re fine.” I attempt to pry lips apart and I’m pretty sure in the process, I’ve ripped my skin off. It hurts more than my broken nail. I start to calm down but there’s still super glue in my mouth that tastes terrible and now my face is red because I attempt to peel off the dried super glue.

All of this for a broken nail? Not worth it.

Now I have drop my child off at preschool and go to work. I know they will stare at my red face.

If someone asks what happened to my face, I will tell this story.

Or lie.