Hmmm about myself, yeesh I’m no good at this sort of thing. I’m a mother of two, a wife to a giant nerd, dog-mom to a chubby corgi, and I like to write (and read) contemporary/romance/slightly edgy YA because even though I’m pushing 40, I find I connect better with it than adult contemporary. Admittedly though, I have been known to enjoy a good chic lit. My non-writing hobbies are reading (duh) and watching the same 80’s movies over and over.
I like to read books about real characters with real struggles. Edgy because life isn’t cute, but also with a romance bit tucked in there. So while I enjoy all of Deb Caletti’s books, I really like Jennifer Niven and David Arnold.
Eighteen year old Margo just wants to make it through senior year of high school unnoticed, but when you’re from the wrong side of the tracks, when you go to a posh private school on a scholarship, and when you find yourself falling in love with one of the most popular boys in school, you are anything but unnoticed.
The leaves were a crisp burnt orange. That was the first thing I noticed on my morning run. Last week they were red bleeding to yellow with swirls of brown. Still clinging to the branches as if they had a say in the matter. Some still a watery green, resisting the change. Others fractured, before readying themselves for the descent to the cold hard earth where they’d turn mucky brown and crunch under my feet.
This was my favorite season, when the last of the summer heat thankfully departed and the mornings were brisk. Sweater weather made for the best PR’s, but of course I didn’t really care all that much about personal records, at least not anymore. I wasn’t in competition with anyone else. I knew if I’d really wanted to, I could be top of the pack with the rest of the Varsity cross-country team, and probably even win because I was good enough to do so, rather than lagging behind, but I wasn’t running for that. I ran, at my own pace, because lately, running had been the only thing in my life I could control. Running was something that made me feel, made me forget, and with the way things were going, these mornings before my 45- minute drive to school were absolutely necessary.
Nate used to say brisk mornings like this were meant for people like us; two souls who didn’t give a fuck, which I never understood, because while I’ve tended to be oblivious to what others thought of me, I never would have said I was the type to not give a fuck. Sometimes I gave a lot of fucks, but anyway, he’d lace up his shoes, the ratty Nike’s with a hole in the left toe, take a final drag of his cigarette, smear it on the sidewalk and take off ahead of me as if he stood a chance. His lungs burned but he’d said it’s what made him feel alive. He kept pace with me, pushed me, encouraged me. It was something that belonged to us. Mom used to say despite our three-year age difference we could have been twins. I missed running with him.
Currently editing one MS, have a second WIP. I’ve written a slew of short stories.
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