i’m working on a new book?? WHAT???

You saw right! I’m working on a new book! The book was originally inspired by two words: futuristic Rapunzel. It came together so nicely and I’m pumped! The first draft is done, clocked in at a little under 40,000 words.

I had my sister and mom read it and take a survey and now I’m going to implement their feedback into the plot.

The last step is to add description, beef up the word count, iron out the plot, and make sure my characters are 100% loveableOkay, that was like ninety steps but it’s one big step.

The main themes? Freedom and being brave. Because to be free, you have to be BRAVE. The title is The Memory Jumper. I like that title because it immediately gives you a reference point as to what we’ll be talking about.

memory jumper

But I’m also thinking I could call it “Blackbird” since that song by the Beetles is referenced throughout the book. That song, to me, is all about freedom so I thought it fitting to include it.


The hardest thing for me right now is that the book needs to have a really serious feel. However, I love funny books and my sarcasm/humor keeps leaking through. The main character ADELAIDE is supposed to be scared, quiet and depressed. So she shouldn’t be cracking jokes even though they’re so funny. So . . . I have to delete all of it. *cries quietly*

But don’t worry!! There will be time for me to write MORE BOOKS OF SASS. But for this one . . . Adelaide is gonna have to be my sobbing homegirl.

Well, I don’t want to drag on about my book because these types of books can get super boring. If you have any questions, comment below! And get excited!!! I know I am!




I never wanted to grow up–

While my friends dreamed of

Cars and

Boys and


I was content with my dolls

And my daydreams

And Elmo.

I wore pigtails with pride

And romped the world,

Gathering dandelions,

Riding bikes,

Shying away from boys.

But we all age

Regardless of

Whether we want to or not.

Six became seven and eight and nine …

I found my spot at twelve, grew a few inches at thirteen.

I had my first foolish crush at fourteen

And by fifteen I had tossed him away and

Declared myself a spinster.

Then sixteen came around

And I met him.

The quiet boy, good looking, but not flashy.

I didn’t know what to think of him at first

But then I thought

Gah–he could never like me.

And that’s when I grew up.

Sixteen stretched on for a mighty while.

I thrived then because there was

No tension,

No possibility.

But then …

Could it be possible?

Oh, why must we grow up?

Why do we trade our

Trees for dreams of brick houses;

Our ponies for minivans;

Our baby dolls for real, live babies that have “our eyes” and “his nose.”

Why must the princes become

A single boy–

A silly, oblivious boy

Who dreams of wrangling clouds?

He dreams not of

Children and

Houses and


Oh yes, he knows it’s in the future.

But he’s content.

Why can’t I be content?

Why do things become so


When we age?

We thought maturity brought


But it doesn’t.

It brings shackles–

The shackles of uncontrollable love,

Of tears that wet pillows behind closed doors,

Of memories from silly things thrown at us from day to day.

We are in


Bondage to our age, to our stupid fantasies,

To the boy who thinks less of us

Than we do of him.


I will not age any further.

Give me my baby dolls,

My tree houses,

My fantasies;

I want my ponies,

And my pigtails,

The scraped knees

And the splinters.

I want the prince

That never came

And that never will.