Thursday, May 21, 2015

Prologue- updated!

This work is subject to change...


Go Your Own Way

15 years ago…


“I’m going to do it, Bridge. Tonight is the night.”

I had a plan. The Make-Braz Huntswell-realize-he’s-in-love-with-Emma Taylor plan. My best friend Bridget Thomas knew all about my all-encompassing love for all things Brazos Huntswell, otherwise known as “Braz.”

See, I had been in love with him since the first time I saw him at the tender age of twelve, when I first moved to Cedar Lake, Texas, from Dallas. My parents bought some acreage and a house next to the Huntswell’s cattle ranch, Elysian Fields. My first glimpse had been of him riding horseback down the county road leading to our houses with his older brother Brandt “Bran” Huntswell.

He was tall for his age, so he looked older than his twelve years astride his horse, and he was beautiful with his golden skin and wavy hair that was every color blonde imaginable. From my seat in the back of my parent’s Camry, I couldn’t tell what color eyes he had, but the smile he aimed at his brother was blindingly white in his suntanned face. It took my breath away, while at the same time, I thought I would throw up. It was the smile. I had found my one true love at twelve years old because of that awe inspiring smile that wasn’t even given to me.

I had to rub my chest a little, just reliving the memory. He was still tall since he grew to be six-foot-two by our sophomore year of high school; still had wavy, every color blonde hair;  golden tan skin; and the same killer smile with the sexiest dimples known to man. The only changes since then were his boy’s shoulders broadening into those of an athlete—the star player on the high school baseball team—a body muscled from hours spent in the weight room, and now I knew his eyes were just as golden as the rest of him. They were an exotic mixture of hazel and light brown, which gave them a bright gold color. Those were his second best feature.

As always, there was a complication, and her name was Jaycee McCray. Jaycee, or “Jay” as Braz called her, was the bane of my existence. Jaycee was Braz’s longtime girlfriend and typical mean girl.

When she was twelve, she was already wearing a B cup, and her long legs were encased in tight jeans. While I, Emma Taylor, was in a training bra and relaxed fit Levi’s. Therefore, Braz was in love with her, and from what everyone said, he always had been, ever since the first day of kindergarten when he had given her his cookies at snack time. Now she was sharing her cookies with him, and I was invisible.

It didn’t help that she had gleaming, long, black hair; pale, ice cold, green eyes; high cheekbones; and natural, full lips that would rival any collagen injected pair. She had grown up beautiful, as well, matching her perfect golden boyfriend. The only changes had been her looks going from girlish pretty to womanly gorgeous. Everything about her screamed sex. How could I compete with that?

As a result, last summer, the summer before our senior year, I came up with a plan. I decided to give myself a make-over. I let my shoulder-length, dark red hair grow and bought every beauty magazine Brookshire Brothers had to offer. I clipped out every article containing homemade beauty treatments and make-up application. I slathered my hair and skin in masks made of eggs, mayo, vegetable oil, fruit, even my dad’s beer—it took a long time to convince him that I didn’t drink it, just used it on my hair, to which he declared I was a nut and to never waste his beer on such foolishness again—and anything else they suggested that could be found in our kitchen.

I spent hours on the back deck in a folding lawn chair, saturating my hair with lemons to bleach some natural blond highlights since I didn’t have enough money to go to a salon for artificial ones. I rubbed my skin with baby oil and set the egg timer, hoping to give myself a tan while reading my beauty magazines—baby oil was a bad idea to use the first time you lay out, by the way, if you had fair skin.

I did extra chores around the house so I could buy make-up at a department store rather than the grocery store. I traded my relaxed-fit Levi’s for tight fitting Wranglers and Cruel Girl jeans and my plain white, cotton bra for a pushup one. Then, to complete the transformation, I did a hundred crunches, twenty-five squats, and twenty push-ups on the bathroom floor every night before my shower so I could tone up.

I was determined Braz Huntswell was going to notice me this year. He was going to realize I would be a better girlfriend than Jaycee McCray. He was finally going to pick me.

We were members of the same clubs, in the same advanced classes, and on the track team together. I made better sense than that twat-face.

My plan showed some promising results. We became friends and spent a lot of time talking or laughing when we were in the same room. He even told me I looked pretty at prom the Monday after the dance.

Now, it was graduation night. Everyone was at the Sloane, the chosen pasture for all underage parties involving alcohol, and I was going to tell Braz how I felt and give myself to him.

I had been saving myself for him since the moment I saw him and hadn’t even expressed interest in dating any other boy. He was “the one,” so why would I waste my time on anyone else?

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Em. I mean … I’ve gone along with this crazy plan of yours, hoping you would snap out of it and realize that maybe Braz isn’t worth this much trouble,” said Bridget from somewhere behind me.

I was heading in the direction of Braz’s old maroon Ford pickup with Bridget right on my heels. I felt her hand on my shoulder as she jerked me around to face her.

“He has a girlfriend, Emma. Don’t you think, if he wanted to breakup with her, he would have done it by now? Huh?” Her blonde brows were scrunched together, and her mouth was drawn into a concerned line that I was becoming very familiar with lately.

“Don’t worry, Bridget. I’m sure, once I tell him how much I love him and why I would be good for him, he’ll finally see me. He just doesn’t know how I feel,” I said with determination.

I went to turn back around so I could continue my journey to that old Ford truck, but her grip on my forearms stopped me.

I twisted back, waiting for what was probably going to be another attempt to dissuade me from my plan.

“Emma, you shouldn’t have to talk someone into being with you. You can’t reason your way into his heart. This isn’t like a test at school where the person who answers all the questions right gets the top score. Jaycee’s a bitch—we know that—but don’t you think he knows that, too?

“Please don’t do this.” She paused before getting an expression on her face like she’d just had the best idea. “Why don’t you go over and talk to Bobby Stevens? He has had a crush on you since freshman year. He’s single and was on the football team. Go on. Please go over and talk to him, instead.”

“I have to do this, Bridge. If I don’t, I will always regret not reaching for what I want … what I’ve always wanted. He got the baseball scholarship to A&M, and we’re going to be studying in the same field. I promised him I would take notes for him while he was at away games. It’s fate, and there isn’t anything you can say that will stop me.”

“I’m sorry, Emma, but I just don’t see good things coming from this. Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.” And, with that, Bridget dropped my arms and walked away, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her.

She just didn’t get it. Bridget Thomas, my best friend since my first day of school at Cedar Lake, had never been in love. Oh, she had dated, but she had never found the one guy who made the rest of them simply fade away.

Resolved, I made my way across the dimly lit grass, away from the bonfire and  toward where all the trucks were parked.

He was leaning against the driver’s side door, one leg propped against the side and the other straight out in front of him, drinking from a silver can. He was wearing his usual white T-shirt, Wranglers, and worn brown boots with a maroon Texas A&M ball cap covering his unruly hair. His eyes were aimed up at the night sky, so he didn’t see me approach.

When I got closer, he must have heard my boots in the dry grass because he turned his head and watched me walk up to him. His eyes were warm, and the smile splitting his handsome face made the butterflies in my tummy go crazy. Damn, I loved that dimpled smile.

Some of my nervousness eased, and I wiped my sweaty palms down the sides of my skirt, feeling more confident than I had a second ago.

“Hey, Red!” Braz shouted a little too loudly.

Hmm … looked like that wasn’t his first beer.

As far as I knew, Jaycee and I were the only people he had given a nickname to. Every time he called me Red, my heart skipped a beat. Hearing my nickname on his lips tonight only increased the hope that burned within my chest as I stopped in front of him.

“Enjoyin’ the party?” His smile turned into a wonky looking smirk, and his pupils dilated, leaving a thin ring of gold that practically glowed.

Yep, that was definitely not his first beer.

“Not as much as you, it seems, but the night is still young.” My cheeks instantly warmed, and I knew my face was turning red. This was it. I was going to tell him …

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and shakily blew it out my mouth. It was now or never.

“Listen, Braz, I have something to tell you...”

I looked down at my cowboy booted feet, gathering the words I wanted to say, the ones I had been practicing in my head all year in order to tell him how much I loved him.

When I looked back up, he was still looking at me with those glazed eyes and that goofy smirk, but he had zoned out on me.

“Braz?” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Yeah?” His expression didn’t change, and I wondered if he had even heard me earlier.

“I … um … wanted to say something to you. You see, I—” Before I could finish my declaration, though, he interrupted.

“I can’t keep it to myself any longer. I have something to tell you, too,” he announced suddenly, and the glazed look evaporated from his eyes like it had never been there.

His eyes were lit with excitement like someone had turned on a light behind them, allowing joy to shine down on me from their depths. However, it was his smile that made my heart feel like it was going to burst from my chest. It was a soft smile I had never seen before, and it was so warm I could feel it heat up my insides. My heart instantly melted into a puddle at his feet, and I knew he was going to tell me he felt the same way I did.

The hope that had swelled earlier was bursting, and my heart felt completely full. I couldn’t contain the smile that spread across my face. Finally, he—

“Jay is pregnant!”


“I’ve asked her to marry me … and she said yes!”


“I’m gonna be a daddy, and I’m marrying the love of my life!”

He let out a big whoop, lifting me up by the waist and squeezing me tight then spinning me around and around in a circle.

I was too shocked to hug him back, so I merely hung limply from his arms like a rag doll. I couldn’t even enjoy the feel of his arms around me or the feel of his warm chest pressed against mine. The world around me was a blur, and I didn’t know if it was from him twirling me around or maybe the tears that were about to fall down my face. I could feel my lips trembling and my nostrils burning, so I was guessing it was tears. All I could hear was Braz’s voice saying, “love of my life,” over and over in my head.

Love of his life? I thought, when Braz embraced me for the first time, it would be because he wanted me, that he finally saw me and realized I was the love of his life. Me!

I could feel the bile rising in my throat along with the sick churn of my stomach. Thank God he finally dropped me back down to my feet, because I was sure I was about to puke all down his backside. And what a shame that would be … the boy could fill out a pair of jeans.

I didn’t know how I stayed upright when all I wanted to do was fall to the ground and cry. My heart was shattered, my soul withering and dying inside my body right in front of him, and he had no clue. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t look at the absolute happiness radiating from his face and body while my future happiness had vanished in a puff of smoke. As a result, I kept my head turned to the side, trying in vain to stop crying.

“Red? Aren’t you happy for me?” I could hear the twinge of confusion in his voice.

I just nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak. I had wasted so much time…

“Are you crying?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“They’re happy tears,” I replied hoarsely, lifting my face back up to his yet keeping my eyes trained on his forehead. It was such a nice forehead. I ached to brush the lock of blonde hair that had fallen across it, but that wasn’t my right … It never would be.

I mustered up a smile that I knew fell short.

“So … What were you going to tell me? I’m sorry for cutting ya off there, but I just couldn’t stand it. I had to tell someone, and you’re my friend, right?”

I hated the uncertainty in his voice, but the knife that he had just plunged into my heart twisted at the thought of only being his friend, the pain almost bringing me to my knees, because that was all we would ever be.

Still, I replied quietly, “Right.” After clearing my throat, I said, “It’s nothing, really. I … uh … just wanted to say how glad I am that we’re going to A&M … and wanted to know if you need any help with anything.” Although I knew it sounded lame, I couldn’t come up with anything else on the spot. My brain was numb, and I could feel a coldness spread through my veins, making me shiver.

“Yeah, about that … I’m not going to A&M.”

My eyes went directly to his before I could stop them. I could see his happiness had dimmed a little, but strangely, something like acceptance had washed over his features.

I couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying. Not going to A&M? We had talked about it all year, how we both wanted to get into the College of Agriculture. I wanted to study horticulture because I loved flowers and gardens. I had worked one summer at a greenhouse and fell in love. He wanted to major in Rangeland Ecology and Management with a focus in Ranch Management so he could come back after he graduated to help his dad with the family ranch since Brandt wasn’t interested. Not to mention, he had it all paid for with a baseball scholarship.

I had a bad feeling slither up my spine.

“I don’t understand. If you’re not going to A&M, then where are you going? I’m sure A&M has family housing, and Jaycee could work and go to Blinn—Did you get a better scholarship somewhere else?” Please let that be the case. Don’t let it be what I think it is…

“No. I’m not … uh, going somewhere else. Actually, I’m not going anywhere. Jay and I got to talking, and she doesn’t want to be pregnant so far from home without her parents and sisters close by. And I don’t blame her, so we decided to sit down with my dad and tell him about the baby ... and … uh … That didn’t go over too well.”

I wanted to say, “Ya think!”

“Anyway, after he calmed down and came back into the house, he agreed that I didn’t need to go off to College Station. I need to stay home and take care of my responsibilities, and he said I could work for him like I did during the summers, except all year round.” He was studying his boots as he said this, and I wanted to scream. He was simply taking this lying down.

“He also said Jay and I could move in with him and Momma until we could get everything worked out and get used to being parents and stuff.” When he looked up at me, it was like looking at a stranger. This wasn’t the confident, easy-going boy I had known since middle school.

Where before I felt like I was encased in ice, now I felt rage—hot, boiling rage—that surged through my veins, blistering and thick, melting the ice.

That selfish bitch! I would bet everything I owned that Jaycee got pregnant on purpose. Jaycee had just ensured that Braz couldn’t leave her behind when he moved to College Station and that her future meal ticket was out of my grasp forever. See, Jaycee didn’t get a scholarship anywhere. She barely graduated with us today. Instead of studying, she spent her time shopping, partying, and screwing Braz. Not sure where she got the money to go shopping from, since her parents couldn’t hold a steady job due to their love of partying too much and too hard. I never asked and probably didn’t want to know.

Despite her low grades in school, Jaycee wasn’t stupid. She knew how I felt and knew that, given close proximity and time, he might come to feel the same way about me.

Whereas she liked to party, Braz rarely did because he spent his time studying and practicing baseball. During off season, he spent his weekends playing with a travel team, hoping to capture the eye of college scouts. He actually had a curfew and a strict two beer rule when he did have some free time. Now, I guessed he had no reason to stick to only two beers. No more studying. No more baseball. All that hard work, for nothing.

How could you say you love someone then do something to ruin their future intentionally? How could he be that stupid?

The mixture of hurt and anger threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to yell at him and beat the living shit out of her. I wanted to cry and beg him to love me at the same time. I needed to leave, now.

“I need to go,” I said abruptly then quickly turned and walked away.

“Red!” he yelled behind me.

I stopped without turning around, too scared of what my face might betray. Then, changing my mind, I spun and ran back to him, throwing my arms around him and clasping him to me tight. I knew this would be the last time I would probably see him.

A new plan had already started to form in my mind. I knew what I was going to do. I wouldn’t ever be able to come back home after tonight. The pain of not having him and him making a life with her here in Cedar Lake would be too much. I knew the wounds inflicted tonight would never heal, and if they did, they would scar. However, if I stayed away, they might not reopen. I could move on if given enough time and distance.

I pulled back, looking into his handsome face one last time, committing it to memory. Because that’s all he would be … a memory.

“Emma…” he whispered quietly, looking me in the eye, letting me know my face was revealing too much.

I hugged him again and whispered goodbye in his ear. Then, pressing a kiss to his cheek, I let him go and ran for all that I was worth. While my boots pounded the dirt, my hair flew out behind me as I ran from the love of my life.

The only set of boots I heard were my own, and the hurt was unbearable. He was letting me go. He wasn’t coming after me.


Something was moving under my face. I opened my eyes and quickly slammed them back shut. The quick glimpse of light had sent scorching, white hot pain through my brain. I inhaled deep then wished I hadn’t, because my room stunk. It smelled like beer, gym socks, and … musk? Wait.

I patted my hands on the moving form under me and earned a snort and more growling. No, not growling … snoring. I opened my eyes, ignoring the blinding light, and looked down at the shirtless muscular guy under me. For a brief moment, unadulterated joy burst through my chest, but just as quickly, it died a quick, painful death.

The light dusting of hair on this chest was dark, not gold. Then my eyes travelled up from his chest to his face … and that was not the face that had haunted my dreams since I was twelve years old. The face belonged to Bobby Stevens with serious bed head and a shadow of stubble across his jaw that was well past five o’clock.

Oh, no. As I sat up, my foot hit the floorboard, causing a loud clatter of cans to shift. Afraid the noise woke up Bobby, I looked down and instantly wished I hadn’t done that, either, because my top was missing. Not only my top, but my bra—the sexy, dark green lace push bra I had bought to show Braz, not Bobby.

I felt somewhat relieved I was still wearing my denim mini, but that relief was short lived, too. I wasn’t wearing panties, because I could feel his crotch—a latex covered crotch, thank you, God—against the other surprise I had   planned to show Braz . The at- home waxing kit was a total waste of money and hurt like someone lit my crotch on fire. I was going to be sick.

Frantically, I scrambled off the still prone Bobby and looked for my clothes, finding my shirt and bra yet no matching green thong. When I tugged the shirt over my head then climbed over the seat, I heard him mumble something, but nothing else, so I assumed he had simply turned over and gone back to oblivion. Yeah, I lost my virginity in the backseat of a truck to a boy I might have talked to a handful of times this year.

I saw my socks and boots lying in the floorboard of the front passenger seat and broke the land speed record for putting on cowboy boots. Then I counted the underwear as a loss and opened the truck door. My head felt like it was going to split in two, my mouth felt like the opening to Hell and probably smelled like it, and my stomach was doing the hippy-hippy-shake. All I wanted to do was go find a rock somewhere, crawl underneath it, and not come out for the rest of my life.

As I made my way back to where I had parked my old Honda Civic, I noticed our vehicles were the only two still parked in the pasture. To my utter relief, I also noticed that his pickup was parked well away from where the other cars had been parked last night, including my car. Maybe no one had come over and seen what we were doing. Doubt it, but even if they didn’t witness it, they probably had an idea that we weren’t merely talking if the truck had been rocking from side to side.

Flashes of last night came back to me as I slowly walked to my car.

After I ran from Braz, Bobby caught me right before I made it to my car. He took one look at my ravaged, tear-streaked face and asked if I wanted to talk about it as he handed me his bottle of Jack. I looked up into his handsome face and realized Bobby was nothing to sneeze at. He was tall, maybe six-foot, with messy black hair minus the waves like Braz, and startling blue eyes. His square jaw was whiskered, like he forgot to shave, and he was smiling at me. Bobby had a nice smile, even a dimple, but his didn’t make the butterflies take flight in my stomach or make my knees go weak. My eyes traveled the rest of him and came to the definite conclusion that, yes, Bobby Stevens was nothing to sneeze at. The boy was built exactly as he should have been since he was on the football team.

I looked back up into his face and nodded my head. Then I let him lead me to his truck where he opened the door for me, and I climbed in. As soon as I heard the door slam, I started spilling my guts. He hadn’t said much, merely nodded his head and occasionally commented with a word of agreement or sympathy. However, as I went on about my six year crush and subsequent heartbreak over Braz, I drank from the bottle in my hand. At first the liquor set my throat on fire and I almost hacked up a lung since I had never drank before. After a while, though, it gave me a nice, comfortable, tingly numb feeling that made my lips a lot looser. After I told him about how happy Braz was about the baby, I burst into inconsolable sobs, and he immediately took me in his arms and held me to his chest. The rest was blank.

So, here I was, doing the walk of shame in some pasture in bum-fuck Texas with no panties, wishing to God I could go back and redo the past six years of my life.

This was Braz Huntswell’s fault. Bridget had been right. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth the broken pieces of both my heart and my dignity.

When I finally made it to my car and unlocked it, even this early in the morning, the air inside was stifling. Gotta love May in Texas.

I cranked the engine, and the lyrics to “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac came pouring out of my speakers. How appropriate. I put the car in gear and knew this was the last time I would ever be here, in this pasture, in this state, and sure as hell in this heartbreak. I was never going to let myself feel like this again. No man was ever going to have the power to reduce me to this dejected, pathetic person. Never again.

I drove out of the pasture, listening to Lindsey Buckingham sing about love gone wrong while the tears continued to fall.

Copyright © by Sadie Allen




Wednesday, May 20, 2015


I saw a Facebook post this morning that totally lit a fire under me. So, I screen capped it to share with you...

It's a reminder to stay hungry. Reach for your dreams because no one else can do that for you. Nothing in this life is handed to you and the things that matter, that really matter, are never easy. 

I find a lot of inspiration from other authors as well...

R.L. Mathewson:
The story of how she became a writer... Just amazed me. Not many people could have went through what she did and come out the other side a success. 
Her book:
It's one of the best ones I've read about writing and publishing. I highly recommend it if you want to be a writer.

She also does a lot of work to help others, not just aspiring authors, she started a weight loss competition amongst her fans. The proceeds will go to a children's charity and that's just one of many ways she's given back. 

Kelly Elliott:
Her posts and comments about writing and publishing are really informative. This one is my favorite:

Kelly is the kind of author I aspire to be because of the way she interacts with her fans and inspires them to BE better people. I can't count how many times she's done a Q&A or encouraged her fans to pay it forward. 

Writing is hard work and self-doubt can kill your inspiration. My goal is to rise above. I am going to publish a book. It may not be as quick a process as I would like it to be but I will keep going. I'm doing this for me. Maybe no one will read it or if they do, they may hate it. None of that matters because I wrote "See Me" to prove to myself that I can do anything if I want it bad enough. 

I hope this post inspires you and that it will light that fire for you.

- Sadie 

Monday, May 18, 2015

Well, I'm back again...

I haven't worked on "See Me" since February. I'm not sure what it was... It could have been self-doubt, exhaustion, or any number of things but I hit a brick wall. One night I was writing and the words weren't coming, and I couldn't focus... I was just tired of the story. 

Yesterday I went to RT Dallas and got to meet a lot of people and something just clicked when I was talking to one of my favorite authors. I overthink. I have overthought this book for the past year. Instead of just sitting down and writing my story, I've been letting all these other fears and doubts creep in until my muse just up and quit. Well, I'm going back to work. This has been a dream of mine since I was reading Fear Street books in the 4th grade. I'm going to edit the prologue of "See Me" and share it on this blog. I hope you'll like it and let's see if I can wrap up this book and have it out this summer. 

-- Sadie 😘

Wednesday, February 11, 2015


I've sent part of my manuscript off to the wonderful ladies at C&D Editing. I'm still hard at work finishing it, but with two young kids at home it can be hard finding time to write. 

So, we're probably looking at Summer 2015 for a release date. I got to playing around and made a couple of little teasers. 

You can follow me on Twitter: @writersadie to find out what's going on with me and my debut novel "See Me". 

Also, I've also started planning the second book in the Cedar Lake Series so stay tuned! 

- Sadie 😉

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

So I took October off...

I'm kinda kicking myself right now. I took October off from writing when I have a deadline approaching. Yeah, I know... Not smart. 

I think everyone goes through a funk every now and then. Mine can last for weeks and at most... months. My inner critic can really cripple me and make me think that even trying to finish this book is pointless. I just got too into my head and it all went down hill from there. I didn't even talk to anyone outside of my husband and children all last week. But fortunately I'm back at the keyboard today. As Dory from Finding Nemo says- just keep swimming. 

Still haven't decided about Nano... I might jump in four days late. Who knows? I probably should have thought about that too last month. 


Sunday, September 28, 2014

*bang of the gavel* Ellora's Cave vs. Dear Author *order in the court*

As some of you might have heard, Ellora's Cave has filed a lawsuit against the popular book review blog Dear Author. Before this was blown up all over my Facebook and Twitter feed I had no idea of the troubles going on within EC's accounting department. Sadly, I have never read anything from Dear Author until it showed up on my newsfeed. Jamie McGuire tweeted a comment about the incident which led me to look it up.

If the lawsuit was supposed to gag Dear Author and hush the internal grumblings from other bloggers, EC authors, editors, cover artists, etc.- too little too late. All they did by filing the suit was make a really bad situation even worse. Now, every reader, blogger, author, and editor knows that something is definitely fishy over at Ellora's Cave. Millions of companies receive bad reviews and criticism but why waste money on suing every person who has a negative word against you?

I think that this will not end well for Ellora's Cave and they have made a grave mistake in trying to silence a well known blogger who happens to be an attorney as well. This case just reinforces my decision to self-publish my work. If what Dear Author has posted is true (which I believe it is) then these authors are living every writer's nightmare. If Ellora's Cave cares anything for their authors and staff they will find a way to make things right instead of wasting money on attorneys to sue someone who is just telling the truth.

I hope that maybe this is all a misunderstanding and that it will work itself out in the end. Pride is a dangerous thing and can lead you down a devastating path. My thoughts and prayers are with those who are involved in this mess and hope that a resolution will come soon. I know what's like to live from paycheck to paycheck and worrying if you have enough to buy groceries for your family.

God Bless!

-- Sadie

Here is a link to the originial blog post from Dear Author

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Dream a little dream...

Writing a book is not for the faint of heart. It is the most gut wrenching, nerve breaking, and terrifying endeavor that you can take on. Blank pages intimidate me and make me break out in a cold sweat. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I sit at a computer and just let my brain spill out on the page. I have no idea if it makes sense to anyone other than me or if anyone would even be interested in reading it. But I just keep plugging along sacrificing sleep and sometimes time that could be spent with my children. 

The thing is, I have a dream (imagine me sounding like Rapunzel from Tangled) and it's one that I've had ever since I was a girl. I've always wanted to write a book and for years I let fear and self doubt get the better of me. When I was twenty-two I made myself a promise that I would finish writing a book by the time I was thirty. Well, it's been seven years and two failed incomplete manuscripts later. My thirtieth birthday is looming around the corner and I'm 21k deep in my currect WIP (which is the farthest I've ever gotten). I'm determined to finish this third one and conquer my inner critic by rising up to this challenge. Even if no one reads it I'll still be proud of myself. 

If you too struggle with the blank page I recommend Christina Dodd's writing tips:

Had another, less experienced author tell me he was writing crap. I told him, “So write crap!” You can always fix crap. You can’t fix a blank page. Guess what? He published the book. So…hey you! Yes, you! Write crap! #writingtip #christinadodd


Georgette St. Clair

If you have a dream (it doesn't have to be writing) pursue it! Don't wait for the right time, the moon and stars to come into alignment, or to drop those last pesky 10lbs... Go! Do! Act before it's too late. 

God Bless!

-- Sadie 😘