Thursday, April 24, 2014


“Um, Nik…we should walk away…” Denise's voice hit my ear and my tunnel vision cleared. The faces around me came into view. Oh, wow. This was a scene. And I was causing it, offering up ringside seats to our mess.

“Why don’t I ever get to have nice things?” Sydney yanked both Charlie and me into the kitchen. “Guys, take your VH1 reality show shit somewhere else. Please.”

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


My dear, dear friend, Shelley, who beta reads for me, loved this part of Failure to Launch, so I decided to share it with you.
This is Nikki's POV (I was a dual POV virgin until this story. Um, I hope it works out lol).  I really like the way Nikki is turning out. I'm drawn to people who are like, "Look at me and my mess. Take it or leave it," and she's this way. She really always puts herself out there...flaws, regrets, shame. She doesn't hide. She's so open about the good and bad, and it's been fun writing someone who often says exactly what they're thinking and how they feel. Anyway, hope you enjoy! I've been so MIA but I'm still here!! <3 <3

“Whoa. I haven’t heard this in a while.” Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist. “Can you keep it here?” I turned the volume up on Kings of Leon.
Charlie raised his eyebrows, but his gaze was stuck on my hand. The warmth I’d felt earlier when he touched my back returned. “This song is always playing in my car and no one ever knows it. I’d believe you if you said you were really a fan,” he said.
It was definitely from before they got famous in America. “You know how when you first discover a band and they’re still playing mostly on college radio? You know they’re struggling to break out as artists, but it’s just so damn good. It’s urgent and anxious. It’s painful and passionate. It’s not mainstream radio-friendly. And you’re singing songs no one else really knows? I love that. It just feels like you own it. This was that album for me. It got me through a rough patch, when I was looking to connect with something, when I wanted a voice in my head that wasn’t my own.”
Somehow during my praise of the band his hand had slid into mine, and now our fingers were linked. It felt really good; it was comforting, the sensation of his palm. “From when you were in…rehab?” he asked.
I nodded then sighed. “So…how much do you want to know?”
“Anything you want to tell me, Nikki, which could be nothing at all. We did just meet a few hours ago.”
And maybe that was why I wanted to explain. But as I took in his kind smile, I hesitated. I never had before when talking about the mess I'd made of my life. And nothing about the way he was looking at me said he was trying to probe or guess what I was going to say. He was just…waiting. For me to talk, or not talk for that matter. It was sweet. Our entire day together he’d been like this. And I think I understood why. He loved stories because he loved people. So, speaking felt like a risk now because…he was something to lose?
What? I don’t even know him.
But I want to. And I want him to know me.
I took in a deep breath. This was normally the time when what I said broke my relationships with people. No matter what they’d thought about me before this moment, it was never the same after they found out about my biggest regret. But I still refused to close off or shut down or run away. The accident didn’t define me but it was as present as any tangible part of me. And I’d take rejection of all of me over acceptance of some persona I’d have to put on forever.