One of my co-workers said to me today that it was hard separating me from Abby in Twenty-Five. She said reading the book was like reading my journal. And she’s exactly right. It took a long time for me to allow anyone I knew in real life to read the book because she hit the nail on the head – I poured my emotions into Abby’s story. Her feelings are my feelings. The things that happen to her haven’t happened to me, but the way she feels about them is.
You have probably heard the old caveat, “Write what you know.” That’s what I did with Twenty-Five. I wrote about the person I knew best in the world – myself. It’s embarrassing and liberating at the same time. The book was written five years ago and I’ve changed even more than Abby does in the course of the story, but it doesn’t change the fact that at one point in my life I was feeling very vulnerable, frightened that I would never amount to anything, a hundred percent sure no one would ever love me. I’ve moved past some of those things, and some of them I’m still working on; knowing that I’ve exposed myself to the world, though, is freeing. I don’t have to hide my fears. I don’t have to hide my morals. They are who I am. And that’s what I wrote.