Admittedly, I never read any of the Traveling Pants' series. But I have the two movies, saw both of them in the theatre, and loved the characters passionately. So when I picked up "My Name is Memory" (because I liked the gold sparkles on the cover, embarrassing admission) I did not recognize the author. I don't even remember if I read the summary on the back or if I thought, Hmm, pretty cover! and just added it to my pile. I'm a very visual person, get over it!
Currently on page 87. I have this uncomfortable, gut-tightening feeling, like I'm standing on the sidewalk watching a horrific crash happening in slow motion. The feeling is very reminiscent of what I felt while reading "The Time Traveler's Wife". It's a very This isn't going to end well, is it? feeling. It makes me squirmy. But that's usually the sign of a great book, right? Or at least one that will affect me emotionally. Ugh, please don't make me tear up on the T like I did with the last book.
In other stuff... It's been ten years since I was bored and started writing Summer At Nineteen. Ten years. I can't believe it's been that long. I mean, S@19 wasn't completely finished until I was twenty-three, but this whole writing obsession/journey/life began that summer in my childhood bedroom. Because I was bored. That's probably the best possible outcome for a summer of having nothing to do outside of work - discover your passion. It might also have been fueled by the 5 Nicholas Sparks books I read that summer (which led to the original ending of S@19, later changed when the editor expressed the need to be less melodramatic). Anyways, just wanted to take a moment to reflect on the past ten years and the manuscripts I've written and queried. So, so, so many words. And pages. Thank you to the friends who have read first drafts and given me honest comments that have helped me move past my personal attachment and better my writing. Here's hoping that good things are just around the bend.
Happy Reading!
~Stephanie
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