Where Dreams Come True… Part One

It is Monday night, 9:44 pm, the 31st of May.  Memorial Day.  I just finished a visit to my friend, Brooke, who lives in Orlando.  We went to Disney World while I was there.

It was my first visit to Disney World.  I had an AMAZING and FANTABULOUS time.  It was the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can remember.  And it really got me thinking- because what doesn’t get me thinking?- about my life and my upcoming birthday.  I feel like I have a ton of stuff to say, so this is probably going to be a two or three part post, to be posted over the next week.

But before I get into my ramblings on how Disney World has changed my life, here are a few pictures for your enjoyment!

More pictures to come, I promise!  The adventures *begin* tomorrow!

Random Ramblings From My Notebook

I was looking through my notebook today, trying to figure out which chapters of which stories I’ve actually typed and I found a couple of random things.  Basically, these are pieces I penned when I couldn’t work on one of my books.  Enjoy!


What good does it do me

To be angry at you?

What good does it do you

To ignore me?

Can’t we just agree

That we’ve both been wrong?


I don’t know what love is.  I know I love my parents and family because I have to, not because I actually feel anything.  I’ve never felt an emotion I could classify as love.  As far as I know, no one has ever felt that towards me.

So do I love God?  No.  But not necessarily because I don’t want to.  It would be easy to just believe, to just say the words.  But what good is that going to do?

Blind faith is idiocy.  If you just believe to believe, then really, what do you believe?

True faith is doubting, questioning, fearing.  And then believing anyways.


It’s hard to feel alive

When life is empty

I exist in a world meant for others

I watch them experience

Breathing is a struggle

Waking up torture

I’m slowly dying

Every day losing pieces of myself

And it doesn’t matter

No one cares

Life or death

It’s all the same for me

And for the world where

I wasn’t meant to be


The fluorescent lights in the hallway dimmed as the bustle of people exiting the building died down.  Soon the only lights left on the floor came from my desk lamp and the glow of my computer monitor.

“Hey Julie,” Shaun’s lanky frame leaned into the door, clinging to the brass knob, “I’m about to head out.  Do you need anything before I go?”

I tossed my pen onto the desk and tucked a few loose curls behind my ear.  “I don’t know.  My brain is completely scrambled.  I’m sure that the second you walk away I’ll think of ten things I need help with before the presentation tomorrow.”

“That sounds about right.”

I laughed and leaned back over the charts and graphs I’d been preparing for the last two weeks.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked, taking a couple steps into the room.

“No, I’ll probably grab some fast food on the way home.”

“I could get you something, bring it pack, help you finish up the details.”

“That’s a really nice offer, but I’m almost done.  One of us should go have some fun and enjoy our evening.”

“We could have dinner together and then we’d both enjoy our evening.”  He was just a foot in front of my desk now.

I didn’t know what to say.  Was he asking what I thought he was asking?  Or was he just being my friendly coworker, a member of the project team who wanted the presentation to be as perfect as I did?

“Um, I’m not hungry.  And I really don’t have much more work.  Thanks, though.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Picking up my pen, I focused on adding comments to the index cards I would need the next day.

“Okay.  Have a good night, then.”  He pulled a granola bar out of his pocket and smiled crookedly as he set it on top of my papers.  “Just in case.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Don’t work too hard.  You’re ready.”  He took long strides into the hall and faded into the darkness.  The wrapper crinkled loudly in the silent air when I tore into it and took a bite.

*  *  *  *

“Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen, my team and I will be happy to answer any questions you have about the proposal.”  I set my postcards on the podium and unconsciously glanced behind me to Shaun, who gave an encouraging smile.  He nodded towards the group of suits sitting around the conference table in front of us and I turned to answer their numerous questions.

When the last executive shut the door behind him, our boss Mr. Henry approached and extended his hand.  “Congratulations, Julie.  They loved your ideas.”

“Thank you, sir, but it was a team effort.”

“Well, you’ve certainly proved you can handle a team.  Come by my office after lunch and we’ll discuss your next project.”

“Yes sir.  Thank you.”

Once our boss left, my coworkers congratulated me and I thanked them for all of their hard work.  I looked around to speak to Shaun, but he was gone, he must have slipped out while I’d been talking to Mr. Henry.  Disappointment settled into my stomach, but at least his leaving let me know that the moment in my office the night before meant nothing except in my imagination.

I gathered my charts and index cards and filed out of the conference room after my teammates.  I watched as they split up and entered their different offices before reaching my own at the end of the hall and dropping the armful of presentation materials into the chair inside the door.

A vase of pink and yellow tulips stood in place of my computer keyboard; I stopped at the edge of my desk and looked over my shoulder for the deliverer of the gorgeous gift, but there was no one there.  I sat slowly and pulled the chair close to the desk.  A small white envelope was tucked into the flowers, my name visible in bright red ink.

Leaning forward, I breathed in the sweet smell of the bouquet and felt a smile emerge across my face.  I took the envelope and pulled the card out.

Julie, Congrats on the presentation.  I really appreciate everything you did for the project.  And if you ever DO get hungry, I’d be happy to take you to dinner.  ~Shaun

It was simple, sweet, not over-the-top.  I propped the card against my computer monitor, moved the vase to the right side of my desk so it was framed by the open doorway, and found my keyboard in the center drawer beneath my computer monitor so I could get back to work.  But temptation got the better of me and every few minutes I’d look to the tulips and smile.

At the end of the day, I collected my briefcase and plucked a bright yellow bloom from the vase to take home with me.

“Great job, today.”  Shaun’s voice came from the doorway again.

“Thanks.  And thanks for these.”  I lifted the chosen stem and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

“You’re welcome.  Do you like them?”

“Very much.  It’s the first time anyone’s bought me flowers.”

His smile matched mine as I joined him at the door.  Our hands joined together effortlessly, we didn’t speak as we walked to the parking lot, but we both knew he was taking me out to dinner.

I Wrote Today!

I wrote today!  I worked on The Death Effect.  And I worked on it yesterday and the day before.  I wrote a whole chapter and beginning of another one.

I need to post it.  It probably sucks because it’s a first draft, but here you go:

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Girl Who Died

What did the world do before Google?  After learning my biological father’s name, I got on the Internet and looked him up.  There were fifty-four possible John or Johnnie or Johnny Fosters in the state and it took a couple of days to narrow the possibilities down.  Only three of them were the right age to be the Johnnie Foster who went to high school with Mary Freemont.  More research gave me the following:

John Foster Number One was the manager of a bank in a small town three hours away.

John Foster Number Two was a librarian in a city an hour away.

John Foster Number Three was a convicted sex offender in the next town over.

I was really praying for Number One or Number Two.  Number One was on Facebook, but his picture was fuzzy and I couldn’t tell if it was the same boy who took Mary to the Homecoming Dance.  Number Two didn’t appear to be interested in social networking, I couldn’t find him on Facebook, My Space, or Twitter.

The next weekday I had off, I drove the hour to find him.  I’m not sure why it was easy to drive the sixty minutes to him but not the ten to my biological mother.  Maybe because I was going to his job, not his home.  He might not be working.  And even if he was, I didn’t have to say anything to him, I wouldn’t have to explain who I was or what I was doing there, not unless I wanted to.

Or maybe it was easier because there was the possibility it wouldn’t be the right guy.  After all, Johnnie Foster could have moved out of state or out of the country.  Or died.  Or had a sex-change operation and be going by the name Aurora Rose for all I knew.  And I hadn’t eliminated the other two possibilities, yet.

Maybe that’s why it was easier, but I didn’t really think so.  Because I had a hunch, I felt like I was on the right track.  Number Two was a librarian, surrounded by books all the time.  Didn’t that fit with what the high school librarian told me?  Maybe I got my love of books from him.  So many maybes.

For a public library, it was gigantic.  Five floors with rows and rows of shelves and small wooden tables and chairs grouped together in sets of four for easy studying.  I wandered around the books, occasionally pulling one from its place and flipping through the pages.  I didn’t know how to go about finding him, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.  I passed a reference desk on each floor, but didn’t want to ask for him by name- how could I explain why I wanted to meet him?

Three hours later, after perusing the last section on the fifth floor, feeling defeated and foolish, I decided to give up and head home.  Then as I reached the top of the stairs to return to the ground floor, there he was, coming up on the right, one hand on the railing, one balancing a short stack of books.  It was the same boy from the yearbook, but he was a man now, an inch taller with broader shoulders and a thicker waist.  A few strands of grey mingled in with dark hair and I could make out the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes, but he still looked too young to be my father, even if he had been only sixteen or seventeen when I was conceived.

I stopped, waiting for him to approach me, wondering if he’d say anything to me, if he’d recognize me, if he even knew I existed.  If he felt or saw me staring at him, he didn’t acknowledge it, he walked right past me without even a glance.  I didn’t have the courage to say anything and he kept walking, shifting the weight of the books into his other hand.

“Can I help you?” a female voice from behind stole my attention and I turned to find a thirty-something woman with short black hair and glasses coming up the stairs.

“Oh no.  I’m just heading out.  But thank you, it’s a beautiful library.”  I rushed past her down the steps, wanting nothing more than to be back at home in my parents’ house, listening to my dad tell my mom how good dinner was.

Why did I come here?  What was I hoping for?  This was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done!

My thoughts were so full, I didn’t pay attention to my feet and kept trying to go downwards when I reached the landing at the fourth floor.  My left foot turned and I crashed to the floor as pain raced through my ankle and up into my leg.

“John!  Come help me, someone fell, I think she’s  hurt,” the woman yelled as she flew down the stairs and knelt at my side.  “Are you okay?  Can you put any weight on your foot?”

“I don’t think so.”  I tried to lift myself, but more pain ripped through my leg.

“She can’t stand on it, it’s already starting to swell.  We need to get some ice on it.”  He had arrived and examined my ankle in just seconds.  When he lifted me, I started to cry.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got a first aid kit, I’ll wrap it and ice it and you should be on your feet in a few days.  I didn’t feel a break.”

I bit my lip, nodded and tightened my hold around his neck.  My father was taking care of me and he didn’t even know it.  I wanted to stop crying, but I couldn’t.  He carried me slowly down to the third floor and across the stacks of books to a room behind the reference desk.  He set me gently on a couch and moved behind a desk, opening drawers and rummaging through them.  A few minutes later the woman came in with an ice pack.

“Here you are.  How does that feel?”

“Better, thanks.”

“I’m Marie, John and I run the library.”

“I’m Lisa.”

John smiled as he came towards us with the first aid kit.  When he removed the ice pack from my ankle and began wrapping it with the gauze bandage, I noticed his gold wedding band matched Marie’s.

“Thank you.  I’m such a clutz.”

“Me too, that’s why I keep the first aid kit in my office.”  We both chuckled and he glanced up from his task, really looking at my face for the first time.  An inaudible gasp formed on his mouth and his eyes widened for a second before he refocused on my injury.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, suddenly brave, wanting to believe he just had a spark of recognition.

He laughed again. “No.  You just look a lot like a girl I went to high school with.  If you weren’t so young, I’d think you were her sister.”

“Maybe I’m her daughter.”  I paused to gauge his reaction, but he continued staring at my foot and seemed intent on hiding his face from me.  “What’s her name?”

“I think you’re probably to old to be her daughter.  How old are you?”


“Yeah, she would have had to have been fifteen or sixteen…” his voice trailed off and I wondered if he realized that’s exactly what happened or if he regretted bringing the subject up for other reasons, whatever they might be.

“What was her name, honey?  Maybe Lisa knows her.”

“Actually, she doesn’t look that much like her.  It must have been the light.  How does that feel, Lisa?”  He finished the wrap and secured the bandage with two safety pins; Marie replaced the ice pack.

“Good, thanks.”

“We have to get back to work, will you be okay here for a little bit?”

“I don’t want to be in the way, I’ll just head out.”

“No, you should really rest that foot for awhile.  I’ll help you out to your car in an hour or two when it’s feeling better.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Marie jumped in, “I’ll get you a book or a magazine while you’re resting.  What would you like?”

“That’s so sweet, thank you, but you don’t have to go to so much trouble.  I’m the dingbat who fell and am causing all kinds of inconvenience.”

“It’s no inconvenience, really.  We have thousands of books at your disposal.  What would you like?”

“Anything by Dickens.  He’s my favorite.”

“John’s too!  See, no trouble at all, he’s got the whole collection right here!”  She bounced to the bookshelves behind John’s desk and pulled three books down.  I hardly knew what to say when she handed them to me.  My parents and Taylor hated Dickens.

“Do you have a favorite novel?” John’s voice was quiet, distant, like he was speaking over a bad phone connection.

Bleak House, usually, though sometimes it’s A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Wow, it’s like fate.  You and John have a lot in common, Lisa.”  Marie patted his shoulder as she left the office and he looked at me, one final, almost-longing look before following after her.  My eyes were too full of tears to read and when he came back to help me to my car two hours later, I hadn’t scanned a single page.

I never told him I was his daughter and I never saw him again.

Life Doesn’t Seem to Take Into Account the Plans That I Make

May was supposed to be an easy month.  I have no weddings scheduled and only had to work one Friday at the ortho.  May was supposed to be the month I finally started querying and writing again.

Unfortunately, May has been super crazy so far.  I wish I could post a screen shot of my calendar so you could see how crazy.  I haven’t sent a single query because I haven’t had time to work on my letter or finish (heck, even start, really) my latest rounds of edits on Twenty-Five.  I don’t know if I’m more relieved or frustrated about that.

I haven’t written a word of The Death Effect since I made the goal to get to 60K this month.  I honestly have not had real time.  I need to go back and read through what I already have and look at my outlines before I write anymore because it’s been soo long since I’ve seriously worked on it.  I don’t remember the paths I wanted the characters to take.  I remember the outcome, just not how to get them there!

So, why haven’t I had the time?  I’ve been working.  I don’t have any weddings this month, which last year meant a smooth-sailing, free-as-a-bird existence.  This year, NOPE!  But that’s a good thing.  I’m busier.  I have more clients than ever and I’m going to meetings and networking events all the time.  It’s wonderful because I really do love it.  If I could coordinate full time and write on the side, I’d be a really happy girl.  And we’re getting closer.  My boss can’t keep track of my clients anymore!

On the same line of thought, we spent four hours on Sunday setting up our blog, Daring, Devoted.  It looks FANTABULOUS, if I do say so myself.  We officially “launched” it on Tuesday.  And by “launched” I mean we all put posts on Facebook about it! haha.  It will be on our website soon, too.  I’m so happy with it and really proud of the BBS team for doing it!  I just hope brides and event professionals find it informative and entertaining.

When we were working on the blog, it struck me how important voice actually is in writing of any kind, not just fiction.  There are three of us in the company and each of us read the other 2’s posts to make comments and suggestions before putting them on the blog.  It hit me over the head how different they each sounded, and not just in content.

I’ve heard so much discussion on the importance of a strong voice over the past year and I kinda wondered if that was my problem.  I couldn’t discern my own voice in my work.  I worried the way I write is so simple that is is utterly devoid of voice.  But I discovered this weekend that isn’t true.  I DO have a voice.  It may not be knock-your-socks-off fantastic, but it’s there.  I sound like me.  Nobody else.  Just me.

And I think that’s a good thing.

*As proof of how busy I’ve been, I wrote this on Monday and have not had time to type it until today, Thursday!*

The Query I Wish I Could Send Out

Dear SuperAgent,

I wrote my first novel, Twenty-Five, a year ago, on the verge of my own twenty-fifth birthday to deal with the trauma of that milestone.  It is the first time I’ve attempted to write fiction other than a contest in the fourth grade (which I won) where I wrote a short story entitled The Summer Aliens Invaded My Brother’s Brain.  I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses.  Twenty-Five is a love story, pure and simple.  The characters are not so utterly unique that reading about them makes one wonder if I was on acid when imagining their personalities.  The plot is not so action packed and full of twists and turns that readers will sit looking at the wall, scratching their heads, for ten minutes after reading because they have no idea what the hell just happened.  Instead, I’ve created characters who are a lot like you and me, your best friend, your next door neighbor, and the boy who grew up down the street from you who you always had a secret crush on.  What happens to them is what happens to us all- the firsts of a new relationship.  The first meeting, the first date, the first kiss, the first fight, the big breakup, etc.

I realize this doesn’t sound glamorous or jump-out-of-your-seat fantastic, but it’s one of those books that will make you feel good.  Reading it, you’ll be reminded how hard it was to summon up the courage to ask that girl out or say I love you.  You’ll remember those nights you spent heart-broken and crying because nothing in the world seemed more disastrous than the person you love leaving you.

I wrote Twenty-Five with the hope of penning a story that would inspire in others the same feelings of romance and hope that Jane Austen’s work inspired in me.

Twenty-Five isn’t a rewrite of an Austen classic and it doesn’t feature any characters named Mr. Darcy, but it does show a strong woman who doesn’t believe in her own strength and a beautiful man who would do anything to make her see how amazing she is.

When Abigail Bronsen turns twenty-five, she wonders why her life has gone nowhere.  She’s trapped in a job she hates and spends her evenings alone in her apartment, with nothing but her literary heroes and writing aspirations to keep her company.  Then Ben Harris crashes into her.

They fall in love, of course, and Ben secretly helps Abigail cross off items on a list of goals she made as a teenager.  He finds out soon though, that helping build her confidence is sending her on a path away from him, one that leads to London and a dream job.

With an ocean between them, they’ll struggle to overcome pain and pride to see if their love is meant to be, or if it was all simply the result of a random accident.

Now doesn’t that sound amazing?  Please read my book!


A Writer Who Will Be Eternally Grateful if You Give Me a Chance!