M.J. Padgett's Blog, page 2

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Welcome to my blog where I will share behind the scenes information about my writing process, my books, and more!

Easy Everyday Habits to Help You Achieve a Writing Routine

Have you ever seen an author hammer out ten new releases a year and wonder if they are some kind of robot?

It turns out there’s no real mystery to it other than simple everyday habits.

Now, if the word “habits” makes you wince a little, I get it. It sounds like a lot of work. It is, but… it also isn’t.

But it’s true what they say: If you can stick with a new habit long enough, you’ll forget it’s a habit.

Good habits can definitely help you become a better and more productive author and still have time for the other things you enjoy.

I know because I made it my mission to produce high-quality fiction while also homeschooling my daughter, keeping our house, and even doing a few hobbies on the side. At first, I got tripped up by the idea that I HAD to keep up with those rapid-release authors and bestsellers.

I couldn’t because I’m not a single woman without any cares in the world (is anyone, really?)

So if you’ve been struggling to stay consistent and productive, you’re not alone. Most people either work too hard or not hard enough in the beginning. I know that sounds like a really difficult scale to measure yourself by, so we’ll dig in deeper.

The real key to success is having a strict routine you can follow without fail, and that includes making time for things that give you an energy boost that ARE NOT writing. What? Did I just say you can write more by writing less? Well, sort of!

Read on to discover three easy author habits to help you be more productive.

,#1. If you are running short on time, don’t use it to write.

Honestly, at first, it was hard to follow through with this one because I wasn't used to it. I thought every free moment should be poured into writing those novels, but it was too exhausting, and I hit burnout quite a lot.

However, simply existing in your free time is critical for your creativity. When you feel rushed, you often block your ability to pretend (and that’s really what we do, right?)

So if you find it challenging to ignore your writing when you have free time, you’re not alone.

It’s so easy to think, “I have half an hour. I can hammer out a whole page in that time!” or “I have ten minutes to edit that page, and it’s one less to do later!)

But remember, you can’t produce quality work without quality rest, and that goes for brain rest too.

Here’s the good news:

You don’t need to devote a hundred hours a week to writing novels in order to be highly productive.

Start off by committing to doing something else you love for 20 minutes a day.

Once you make it part of your routine, it will not only become a regular habit but something that gives your author brain a chance to recharge!

You can also set clearly defined goals to help you focus every day or week or other length of time you can plan.

Keep in mind that free time looks different for everyone, so what works for someone else may not work for you, and that’s okay. All you have to do is commit to enjoying life outside of writing, and the rest will follow.

Having a support system of other authors (preferably a few more advanced than you) can help you recognize burnout before it ravages your ability to focus. They can offer suggestions to ease your anxiety about “getting this book done” and help you detox from that overachieving mindset.

One of the best decisions I made while trying to avoid burnout was to learn to make super nutritious food from scratch. It was too easy for us to order a pizza on Friday night so I could work, but now we make homemade pizza and spend time as a family, and when I sit to write, the ideas flow much better.

At first, you might feel guilty that you are not writing, but it's okay! It’s natural to feel that way when we are measuring our success by others’ success. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and we do our best work when our minds are stable.

And if you’re really ready to set [habit] in stone, use [some popular productivity or time management tool][insert a link] to lock it in so you always set aside time for it.

,#2. Don’t skip out on sleep

I underestimated the power of sleep, but it's crucial to your health and well-being as well as your creative process, so it’s worth paying attention to.

For a long time, I burned that candle at both ends. I was up early taking care of my kiddo, doing homeschooling, and cleaning the house, then I was up late writing or editing. I reached a point where five hours of sleep was a gift.

But when you don’t sleep, you’re likely to have brain fog, health issues, and chronic crankasaurus (my child’s term, not mine), which undermines your ability to write, serve your family, and keep your body in good shape so you don’t, you know… die.

Skipping sleep will ultimately cause more harm than good.

Your sleep-deprived brain is not a reliable narrator.

So even if you have to make a deadline, make sure you sleep enough to keep yourself in tip-top shape.

If you’re having a hard time sleeping thanks to an overactive brain, here are some things I try:

Eat a lighter dinner, and don’t eat anything in the last two hours before bed Use magnesium spray (I’m not a doctor, but this stuff works like a miracle for me… still, consult your doctor) No screen time an hour before bed (blue light is killer)

,#3. Dedicate time to writing that works within your family’s schedule

This one can be extra challenging, especially if you’re used to writing whenever you get the chance, the topic I discussed in the first point.

Often, I would assume I had free time to write only to discover my husband had a doctor’s appointment he’d forgotten to write on the calendar, or my child would come down with a virus, or the dog would get sick. I was immediately annoyed because my schedule was messed up.

When your writing time varies, you confuse everyone whose life does not include time for creative writing.

How do you remedy this issue? You schedule time for writing that works for everyone. Yes, there will still be some incidents, but if your spouse knows you’ll be working for two hours every afternoon, then said spouse knows to work around it or discuss it with you.

If writing is a career choice for you, treat it like one. Schedule the time, and stick to it. And when it’s NOT time, do something else. I know, I know… It’s so hard to walk away from those stories, but that’s all they are. They are stories, and real life is happening all around you. Find time to enjoy it while also dedicating time to your craft.

Here are a few ways this works in my family:

Each week we review our schedules and decide on Mom’s “work time” I set a timer so I know when my time is up, and the family knows not to interrupt We ensure there are loads of fun family activities included so no one feels left out or ignored

Wrapping it up...

Whether you’re new to writing, have been at it for a while, or just want a way to be productive without hitting burnout, these habits will help you do that.

All you need to do is stick to a routine that works for you and your family. It doesn’t have to look the same every day, but the habits should be maintained. For example, two hours of writing per day, one hour of exercise, half an hour at the park, an hour of family dinner time, and so on. Flexibility can easily be built in to work with your family flow. No military-style scheduling is necessary!

Remember, it takes time and dedication, and failure is part of the process. So if you go off track at any point, that’s completely normal. Don’t beat yourself up and lose time worrying about it. Get right back to it. You got this!

Discovery Writer Myths Busted

All right, friends, it’s myth-slaying time.

There are a lot of people out there who will tell you that discovery writing (or pantsing, as most people call it) is not a viable way to write a novel. Those people believe this because their minds are capable of creating pages of outline to follow, whereas the mind of the discovery writer works a little differently.

Guess what? That’s okay. Neither way is the right way, and I’d venture to guess we all fall somewhere along the line between Planning and Pantsing.

I’ve seen too many toxic myths about pantsers, ones that all beginners must break away from in order to write their novels in a way that works best for them. Because with anything you do, your mindset is what will set you up for success.

Did you know Tolkien was a discovery writer? It’s true!

“If you wanted to go on from the end of The Hobbit I think the ring would be your inevitable choice as the link. If then you wanted a large tale, the Ring would at once acquire a capital letter; and the Dark Lord would immediately appear. As he did, unasked, on the hearth at Bag End as soon as I came to that point. So the essential Quest started at once. But I met a lot of things along the way that astonished me. Tom Bombadil I knew already; but I had never been to Bree. Strider sitting in the corner of the inn was a shock, and I had no more idea who he was than Frodo did. The Mines of Moria had been a mere name; and of Lothlorien no word had reached my mortal ears till I came there.”

-- (J.R.R. Tolkien to W.H. Auden, June 7, 1955.)

This discussion clearly indicates he wrote Lord of the Rings with a great deal of discovery. That isn’t to say he planned anything, but he allowed his creative muse to run free. I mean, if Tolkien is allowed to do that, so are you!

Time to get straight with discovery writing!

Discovery Writing Myth #1: It’s easier to write from an outline.

This is so not true. In fact, it burns me up every time I hear it.

Why is this a myth for pantsers? Because it burns our creativity to the ground. Boom. Gone in an explosion so great it sucks the joy right out of writing.

In my experience (and many other pantsers I know,) writing a detailed outline is akin to writing the story. Your creativity goes into this rather than crafting a genius world! I don’t know about you, but some of my most brilliant twists (that readers adore, mind you) have come from painting myself into a corner as I discover my characters and the world in which they live.

But a lot of people still believe only outlining will work. If you don’t outline, you risk too many plot threads, too much rambling, and so on. To that, I say… so? That is what editing is for. Let your creativity blossom and go anywhere it wants! I believe this mindset is instilled in several ways.

They went to formal training to learn to write a novel They are the protege of someone who was trained that way They read all of the novel writing books that were NOT written by discovery writers

But, even doctors will tell you all of the formal training in the world could not prepare them for some of the cases they treat.

The truth:

Don’t let anyone tell you that sitting in front of a computer and letting your mind take you on an adventure is wrong. It isn’t. It’s just different.

If you feel sick making an outline, or you feel as if the story is told once it’s done, I beg of you to try writing another way. Don’t feel shamed into a box!

Discovery Writing Myth #2: Readers can tell the difference between outline writers and discovery writers.

This one may be surprising. If you have ever read reviews on Goodreads, they are brutal! There is some delusion that independently published authors don’t know how to write… because they all pants. That is simply not true, but I have seen it argued so many times that it makes me seethe.

However, the truth is that there are tons of traditionally published authors who are discovery writers and just as many independently published authors who are outliners. The assumption that indie authors write bad books because they “pants” is frustrating because readers (who are not also authors) don’t understand what that actually means.

Discovery writing doesn’t mean we throw things together and hope they make sense. On the contrary, we usually take special care to revise, edit, and recraft our worlds to perfection because our minds see those worlds so clearly, we cannot leave them alone until they are painted with equally vivid colors in the readers’ minds.

Why do people still believe this? In my opinion, it’s because people still believe it is a lazy way of writing... That it is not honing your craft if you don’t take countless hours planning.

Honestly, that is a pretty slim-minded way of looking at it.

The truth:

Ultimately, if the end product is as clean and crisp as possible, it doesn’t matter one iota how it happened. I refuse to stifle my creative process to fit the frame of what a different mind believes is the right way.

Are there things discovery writers must do to ensure they have a quality book when they are done writing? Yes, of course. It doesn’t matter how you write, you will still need to revise and edit. The work still must be done, but we prefer to do it on the back end when our creativity won’t be squashed like a bug, thanks.

Discovery Writer Myth #3: Discovery writers don’t follow the three or four-act structure.

I can totally understand why someone would believe this, especially if you read a lot of work written by beginners who haven’t picked up a book in their lives.

I was kidding. That’s actually the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I read an entire blog post by a woman who swore (with several curse words) that discovery writers could never satisfy readers because readers are used to a three or four-act structure… something a discovery writer cannot do if they don’t plan.

Excuse me, what?

Why do people believe this? I really have no clue. It infuriates me! So, I can’t learn how to make a pot of spaghetti by watching someone else do it? I can, and I have. You can learn the “rules” of writing by reading. A lot. Read all of the books you can get your hands on, and your brain will naturally pick up on the pacing, act structures, and format of the fiction novel.

It is a dangerous misconception to believe a writer cannot instinctually write this way. It is also pretty brazen to assume readers won’t like anything written another way (ahem, like a TON of the things we were required to read in high school that didn’t touch act structure with a ten-foot pole).

The truth:

You have to read to write. You just do. If you want to let your creativity flow and be a discovery writer, then read as much as you can in a variety of genres. See how authors create tension, pace their work, introduce characters, hit the midpoint, and so on.

Because while discovery writing is absolutely a legitimate way to write your novel, you still have to write one that tells a complete, cohesive story readers will enjoy. (Which you can definitely do without an outline, humph.)

Why is it misleading to believe these three myths?

Believing in these myths can make you question your decision to write. It will make you wonder if you are somehow broken and just a bad writer.

And I absolutely know you have everything it takes to write your novel your way. You just need the right guidance to succeed. Otherwise, you risk exhibiting these myths rather than dispelling them. Doing anything in a way that is different from the norm gets eye rolls and snide comments. Don’t listen to them.

Whatever you do, don’t give up!

I’ve seen tons of authors achieve livable incomes doing it their way. There’s nothing mysterious or special about them. They simply don’t conform to the standard presented.

They did it by sticking to what worked for them and ignoring those who said it couldn’t be done.

Limiting Beliefs That Are Holding You Back

You know what?

There’s a whole lot of misinformation on writing a novel out there, which is why it’s easy to feel defeated when you’re doing everything “right” and still not getting results.

Before I learned how to write confidently, I tried every guide and article I could find.

Expert #1 would say to take fiction writing course, and expert #2 would say all I needed was this AMAZING template.

Many people think there is only one way to write a novel, but they are wrong. That’s why most of those gimmicky things will never work for you.

Others are so stuck in the way they “learned” to write, they are stifled, and find themselves buried in burnout and misery.

I learned that finding methods that worked for ME, my brain, and my creative process was key to a happy career.

You absolutely should NOT force yourself to write in ways that do not work for you simply because someone else said so (even the experts.)

When I first began writing, I couldn’t understand how to outline a novel. I’d outlined research papers, informative lectures, and so much more… but never a novel. I read books, followed YouTube tutorials, and so much more.

No matter what I did, I still couldn’t write a detailed outline!

Once I finally tossed the outline out the window and started writing, things broke free. I could plan ahead a chapter or two, follow my characters on their journey, and I didn’t have to sit in misery telling the story before I told the story!

You can do it too!

Read on for some sneaky limiting beliefs that may be holding you back from writing an amazing novel and how to turn them into your superpowers. Guess what? These were mine, and they might be yours, too!

Limiting Belief #1: I Need to Have a Writing Degree

I thought for sure that I would need to go back to school–again–to get a writing degree. I already had FOUR degrees, and I didn’t want to go back to school. Surely, there was a way for me to learn to write a novel without spending more time and money at school.

Instead, I turned my lack of schooling into a superpower.

First, challenge this belief. After all, it’s just a belief, and you have no proof that it’s reality (spoiler: it’s NOT!) How many bestselling authors actually went to school to become novelists? In modern times, perhaps many, but those classics? Most were passion projects, not the works of formally trained novelists.

Ask yourself why you think you need to go to school for a degree in writing. Is it that someone else told you it was necessary? Are you so used to college being the answer to every job question that it was an automatic requirement in your mind? Are you too afraid to find resources on your own?

Once you have the answers, think about what it would be like to do the opposite. What would it be like to self-teach? Would it save you time and money? Would you enjoy the process more?

You don’t have to take action now. Just let it sit with you and try to broaden your perspective. Keep challenging yourself.

Limiting Belief #2 – I Don’t Have Time to Write a Book

“I’ll get to writing as soon as I finish cleaning my house.” or “I’ll get to writing as soon as I set up a home office."

Sound familiar?

We all have a list of things we need to do and in what order we want to do them.

But if you’ve been procrastinating on getting started on your novel for weeks or months, it’s probably time to re-prioritize.

Do you really need to have a home office before you tackle your rough draft? Or is it something you tell yourself so you don’t have to do the scary thing and actually WRITE?

It’s common to make up reasons to procrastinate when we’re afraid of what comes next.

But you know what?

The longer you wait to do the things you love, the less likely you are to do them. Do you want to miss out on sharing your story with the world or even just one friend?

We have chores and things we must do, but if you examine those things and find that many of them are simply excuses to procrastinate, then scrap them and get to work!

I’m a big procrastinator, but here’s how I turned it into a superpower:

I learned to combine tasks and make lists. It was really that simple for me because there is something so satisfying about marking things off of a list. I also learned to evaluate the pros and cons of the order in which I thought I had to do things. Should I do laundry? Well, yes. I can’t go to the grocery store naked, BUT I can write a few hundred words between loads.

What are your procrastination pitfalls? How can you turn them into superpowers?

Limiting Belief #3: I’m Not a Good Writer

How many times have you read a book and thought you could have told the story better? Or the story made you excited about writing your own book, then immediately thought, “Nah, I won’t be able to do it. I don’t have enough experience, and I’m not good at it?”

You’re not alone. This is another belief that comes from a place of fear, and we all have them.

Fear of failure is pretty hardwired in most people (except toddlers, for some reason), and I know it well. I have written gobs of books, and sometimes fear of failure still slips in.

The problem with this belief is that it can prevent more empowering beliefs from forming if you’re not aware of them.

I’m not talking about inspiration posters with cute kittens here. I mean real, meaningful beliefs that push you to do your best. As a Christian, writing for God pushes me. I also want to write clean, age-appropriate fiction for young adults because it is sorely lacking. Providing solid material for my audience is a driving tool that kills the fear. If I don’t write this story, no one will. They can’t write it like I will.

How to use fear as a superpower:

Imagine another time you tried something new. How did it go? Were you a pro right off, or did it take some practice? We will only put in the effort to overcome fear when we truly love something, and if you love writing you can absolutely turn those fears into something that drives you.

First, figure out all the reasons why your story needs to be told. Is it for a niche audience who only gets a small selection of new books every so often? Does it tackle topics near and dear to your heart?

For example:

Say you want to write a romance about a man who experienced severe trauma during a military deployment because you have a dear friend who went through the same thing. But… you are afraid to step into the topic of PTSD.

Flip this belief by saying you do have experience, you know where to find more information, and you know there is a group of people waiting to read more feel-good stories that relate to them, help them work through their own pain, and help them see a brighter future. Your fear is nothing compared to providing those things for others.

If you’re struggling to write but want to fix that, you’re STILL making great progress!

It’s time to turn your limiting beliefs into empowering beliefs! If you find yourself procrastinating or struggling, think about what may be holding you back. Write down ten limiting beliefs, and don’t be afraid to see them on paper.

We all have them, remember? It’s what you do with them that counts.

Will you push through and keep going? You bet you will!

Let’s get you writing and putting those limiting beliefs to rest.

The Perfect Start for New Authors

Every new writer struggles with where to begin, which is normal. One of the biggest questions I receive is… What do I need to get started as an author?

They get stuck wondering things like, “What word processing software is the best?” or “How do I find an editor?”

It’s hard to move forward when you’re unsure what to do first.

The good news is you can quickly bring order to the chaos by following three simple rules.

In this post, I’ll define those three rules and provide three resources perfect for new authors. I hope this will give you a roadmap so you can start your author journey and write the book of your dreams.

What is the perfect start for new authors?

The answer is pretty simple, actually. You need a word processor that is easy to use, a great idea, and the determination to see your project through to the end.

In other words:

Write. Just write, and the rest of it comes later.

The added benefit of putting all those stressful topics behind you is that you can focus on what makes you an author, to begin with–your creativity! Of course, you will want to address those at some point, but it’s not right now! I’ll tell you why below.

Rule #1: Find a Word Processor

A word processor is any software program that allows you to type and format your manuscript. This includes Microsoft Word, Google Docs, and many fancy programs that cost a great deal of money when you add up the cost over time. Now, if you choose to go with one of the higher-cost platforms, that’s fine! Ensure you understand how to use every feature to get your money’s worth and that it isn’t distracting. Distraction means you won’t get your story written, and we don’t want that.

And remember, while hand writing your book is an entirely valid system, at some point, you will have to type it into a word processor to send it to editors, format it, and upload it to publishing platforms or submit it to publishing houses and agents.

Choosing an appropriate processor is a crucial component of the writing process because you have to WRITE the story to write the story, right?

Many people new to writing start out on the right track but then get stuck because of the dreaded fear of missing out strikes. Who hasn’t seen the fancy ads on Instagram for the do-it-all-for-you, all-in-one writing platforms? I’ve tried them all, and I’m here to tell you… you don’t HAVE to have them, especially if cost is a concern.

When you get off track, you wind up spending all of your time learning new program after new program instead of… writing.

The key to success here is to pick and stick with one you already know. For now… later, you can try all of the fancy things.

To get started here, consider what you already use for work, school, email, etc. Choose a program that works similarly, and use it. My favorite for newbies is Google Docs because it’s free for anyone with a Gmail account and can work for Mac and PC users.

Rule #2: Brainstorm a Good Idea

Not all ideas are good ideas. Not all ideas make good books. And unfortunately, not all ideas are interesting to readers. Your goal is to develop a unique concept, something you can put your own spin on, and that will entice readers to pick up your book.

If you’ve spent hours figuring out how to make your idea work for a book, but something still feels off, something is probably missing. This is when I start combining ideas, and I can do that because I keep an idea folder on my computer.

With this, you can paste together ideas until something truly remarkable comes together. There is almost always a “click” moment for me, and it’s a beautiful feeling.

What if you don’t have an idea at all?

A handy tool for generating ideas is the Reedsy Plot Generator.

This tool has it all! It spells out a plot idea for you, and you can run with it until your heart’s content. The best part about it? It’s TOTALLY free! (Oh, and it works for several genres, too!)

Rule #3: Determination

Determination… resolution of purpose… or, in other words, an author’s ability to shut out the world, stop listening to the negative voices, and write our story.

Here’s where you’ll start digging into why you want to be an author. It will take a lot of work if you intend to make money with your writing. Intense work. More work than one of those HIIT exercise routines that almost killed me years ago.

Of course, this doesn’t mean we will never have moments where we flounder and even fail. Consider how long it took Harper Lee to write the sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird! Or how long it takes George R. R. Martin to spin that wheel of death and write his next installment. Determination ensures we finish the project, but it doesn’t promise it will be easy.

Some approaches you can use to keep yourself accountable are:

Set a timer for writing sprints (any amount of time to start is fine… 5 mins, 10 mins… and work your way up. This works great with a writing partner.) Find another author in roughly the same stage of their career, and hold each other accountable (social media is a great place to find other authors) Keep your writing space distraction-free (yes, that includes your phone if social media distracts you too much)

Once you’ve figured out how to tap into your determination (hey, if you have to bribe yourself with snacks, I’ll allow it), there will be no stopping you!

Putting it All Together for Your Perfect Set-Up

There you have it! The 3 components of your perfect start.

Writing a novel at first may seem daunting, but like most things, practice makes perfect. Just focus on your story and what it means to you first. This will help you focus on the end goals rather than the distractions and write a killer debut novel!

What’s next?

If you need help getting started, remember that Reedsy Plot Generator can help you come up with solid ideas to begin organizing your novel. From there, remember to use the word processors you are already comfortable using. Stick with it, seek help when needed, and never be afraid to ask the “dumb” questions.

We’ve all been there. We know how hard it is to do this writing thing, and most authors are willing to help you figure things out.

A Developmental Editing Rant (Sort of)

This blog "rant" was originally posted to Instagram, but it got such a big response that I decided to share it here with my Inspiring Authorship lovelies. It isn't so much a rant as it is the truth, and it's a big thing new authors need to hear! If you'd like to see some affirming comments from actual developmental editors on this post, you can check it out here.

A DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING RANT...

I have a little rant… I’m not trying to aggravate, annoy, or infuriate developmental editors, but I’m a little over how some editors do their work. Let me explain.

The work of a developmental editor is hard. I completely agree and understand. You are taking an author’s hard work and making it shine a little brighter. You are ensuring the characters remain consistent for their arc, that the world created is consistent and accurate, searching for plot holes and contradictions, and finding places where a little more flourish is necessary. You’re checking structure and flow, pacing, and so much more. Your work is hard.

But that is where it ends.

I never planned to write this post, but FOUR authors have come to me with questions about their developmental edits. They were heartbroken that the editor shredded their manuscript. Some of their books I beta read, and while there might have been a few areas that needed work, I didn’t think they deserved the “trash it and start again” approach their editor seemed to imply was necessary.

So we dug in… and discovered this shredding of the novel was entirely unnecessary. Why?

Personal opinion.

Authors, if your developmental edit comes back with very clearly opinionated revisions, you are allowed to ignore them. Actually, find another editor. It is not a developmental editor’s job to say your character’s personality is awful, and you should change it. It’s not their job to tell you the magic system you use is not what they like and you should change it to this or that.

To be clear, your editor’s opinion of your story is NOT what they are paid for (that’s an editorial review, so there’s that.) They should ensure (even if they hate your character) that she behaves consistently with her character arc. If they hate your world, they should put that aside and ensure that it is fully fleshed out, consistent, and paints a vivid picture in the reader’s mind. They don’t even have to like the story. They must only ensure it doesn’t have plot holes, inconsistencies, unwanted paradoxes, etc.

See where I’m going with this?

You are not paying for a review of your book. You are paying for someone to help you ensure it is cohesive and accurate. If your editor can’t see around personal opinions, then they should refund your money and step away. If not, then you need to fire them. This is your book and your money, and while a developmental editor’s work is hard, it does not include a personal attack on your hard work.

To be clear, I am not talking about proofreaders, line editors, or what have you. You should probably listen to them since their job is something completely different. Strictly developmental edits should be taken into consideration only if they are:

1. Not personal taste or preference in any way

2. Clearly enhance or clarify the story

3. Are consistent with the story you are trying to portray

There we go. I’d like to think developmental editors who are fantastic at their job would agree with me. If not, please consider if you allow your personal taste to slip into your work.

To put it another way, if you were a chef at a restaurant, would you tell every customer that the spaghetti dish is disgusting simply because YOU don’t like spaghetti? No, you’d make the spaghetti with the same intent to provide a quality meal as any other item on the menu. Then, you’d hand it over to the server and move on. You certainly would not go to the customer and tell them their choice of sauce is horrible, they should use parmesan instead of Ramono cheese, and they should prefer their noodles as thin instead of standard spaghetti noodles.

If you were Gordan Ramsey, maybe you would, but he’s a particular case, not the standard.

With all of that said, authors—remember this is your book. Editors—remember this isn’t YOUR book.

Welcome to Inspiring Authorship!

Welcome!

Are you a beginning writer? A young writer who is excited to write your first novel but you don’t know where to begin? Have you tried all the courses, planners, and programs and found yourself more lost and confused than ever?

Me too. At least, I used to be! Once upon a time, I was a newbie learning the ropes alone. It was a big ocean out there, and I was drowning.

Friends, I am here to tell you it gets much better. I kept telling myself that, and one day it did. In my blogs, I will strive to be honest (sometimes brutally honest) about this career, but always with a thread of hope and help.

In the beginning, one of the hardest things for me was figuring out how to begin. What do I do? How do I do it? Then, I fell prey to the “one size fits all” way of writing a novel, which almost killed my career. I did everything I was supposed to, and it all went wrong.

I asked myself why this happened.

My answer was that I simply didn’t think the same way. It was really that simple. My brain processes information drastically differently from those writers who write those how-to manuals explaining how to write a 25-page outline, plot out every scene, make character cards, and so on. When I did all that, my brain said, “Well, that was fun. Let’s move on to the next story because this one has been told.”

But I hadn’t written anything!

My goal with Inspiring Authorship is to lead writers like me… the pantsers, the discovery writers, the “hey, that’s not how this is supposed to work” writers and get you across the finish line with your first novel.

It probably won’t be easy. Most things worth pursuing rarely are, but I think we can do this together.

Let’s begin here: Why do you want to be an author? Write it down and pin it where you can see it. You’ll need to remind yourself a few times that there is a light at the end of this tedious tunnel (and I promise, it’s not a train!)

Why I Wrote The Wild... and What it Means to Me

Most of the time, my ideas come to me when I’m in the shower with nothing to write on. Sometimes they come in dreams, and other times, when I’m sitting at a red light people watching. The Wild was more intentional than any of my other ideas. Bits of it came the usual ways, but most of it came with purposeful planning, and if you know me, you know I am NOT a planner when it comes to writing. However, with this story, I wanted God to shine through more than any of my other works, so that took time, understanding, and patience—three things I often find myself lacking.

I wanted to show the life of a Christian, how we stumble and fall, and how putting our faith in the Father brings us closer to all of those things. Wren is my favorite female main character of all time, which is saying something since I have a lot of favorites. She far surpasses Eiagan (Eiagan’s Winter) in many ways, not because Eiagan’s struggle is any different. In many ways, it is very similar to Wren’s. Both seek counsel from God, though Eiagan is farther from submission than Eiagan. Both also suffer from self-doubt, questioning God, and wondering if their lives really make a difference in the world.

Through faith, Wren learns to follow her path, but it isn’t without hardships. Many hardships, in fact, but her steadfastness is contagious and impacts more lives than she knows. Wren isn’t your typical rear-end-kicking fantasy leading lady, either. In fact, she’s quite gentle and humble, quiet and courteous, and often puts herself last or in positions that are uncomfortable for her for the sake of others’ well-being. Make no mistake, though, she takes on the power of a mother bear when necessary but never forgets that God made her a woman. With that comes the understanding that she is out of her depth and can only survive and thrive when she puts her full faith in Him.

Writing The Wild was a faith-testing and building experience for me. I’ve written clean fiction for a long time, most always with a Christian worldview and morality, but I found I often slipped into worldly points of view while trying to be “acceptable” in a genre. More recently, I’ve felt convicted to bring God more into my writing—after all, it’s with His blessing that I have a skill I can hone, to begin with. While most of my work might not be as overtly Christian as The Wild, I still intend to let Him lead. My fantasy worlds have never contained “false names” for God. When I say God, I mean God, not the cauldron or the maker or the this or that. To be clear, I don’t condemn others for doing so, not in the least, but for me, it is more authentic to simply say what I mean. I also know that not everyone believes in God as a Christian, so they use varied names. I’m not shaming anyone but clarifying my own stance on my work.

But MJ, you’re still marketing to the secular world as well as Christian readers. Isn’t that going to anger some readers? Possibly. I do my best to write my blurbs so you know what you’re getting—something all authors should do. Notice how sometimes you pick up a book expecting one thing but get another? *Ahem* spice in young adult books when the blurb seems innocent and sweet? My intention is not to “fool” readers into reading Christian fiction. My intention is to offer a Christian worldview to whoever wants to read it. When I market only to Christians, I miss my mission as a Christian, which is to spread the gospel wherever I can. That also means not delegating my book to the dark recesses of Amazon categories “for Christians only.” If a reader cares to read my blurb, they will easily see the message intended, but I know that is still going to frustrate some people. I’ve heard it before. “If it has Christian God in it, it should only be allowed to be in Christian categories.”

Really? I haven’t heard that about other religions. No one says Islam should be delegated only to Islamic categories. Hinduism to said category. In fact, those categories don’t even exist as options on most publishing platforms. I wrote a fantasy with Christian themes… it’s still a fantasy.

So I suppose you could say this about The Wild… it’s my here I am, take it or leave it book. It’s my intentional thanks to my Creator for so many things, and I’m not about to be quiet about it. I hope you all like it and see the messages woven through it as applicable to life, even if you are not Christian. Further, if you’re not and want to chat, I’m available for civil discourse and love talking with my readers. You can always email me at mjpadgett@mjpadgettbooks.com or find me on social media!

100 Grand Sneak Peek!

Curious to know more about my young adult romance novel 100 Grand, the story told as a fictional memoir with interviews and excerpts? Try the first two chapters below!

FORWARD

When I was first approached with the idea of writing a book about my family, I was hesitant, to say the least. How on earth could I be expected to write a book that effectively displayed the thoughts and feelings each of my family members (and quite a few friends) experienced during some of the most tumultuous and exciting times in our lives? It certainly would have been a much less daunting endeavor if my family were of average size, but the Grand family is anything but average.

I struggled for a long time, choosing what to include and what to scrap, and I ended up with this. This book you hold in your hands is the ultimate guide to all things 100 Grand. I couldn’t only write from a first-person point-of-view. If I did, you would miss out on so much. But at the same time, writing strictly from a third-person point-of-view made me feel small, left out, and distant from a time in my life when I was anything but small, distant, and left out. So, I did a little of everything. Within the cover of this book, you will find my story, a few excerpts written by family members, interviews (completely uncensored, by the way), and every emotion that went into the band you know and love, 100 Grand.

100 Grand—the rock band that took the world by storm. We weren’t always mega-famous. Once upon a time, we were just a bunch of brothers, sisters, and a few friends living in a small-town world. Nothing exciting ever happened in Cedar Shores, North Carolina. Nothing. Ever. It was the smallest town in the world—probably not, but it sure felt that way growing up.

Small town, big family. Really big family. The Grand family—a surname my parents took quite literally when constructing our household of seventeen people—lived a reasonably normal life. My father, Abraham Grand (in hindsight, Abraham is an appropriate name for a man who fathered many), was and still is the founder and CEO of Grand Enterprises, a cyber-security firm that specializes in government and military contracts. Would you like to know precisely what it is my father does for a living? Me too. Only a few of my siblings who work for the firm know since it’s all very top secret kind of stuff.

Abraham met Leslie Ellerson in college, and he fell in love with the beautiful woman in his Introduction to Economics class. My mother, Leslie, is famous in her own right. A former model turned stay-at-home mom, she has written several books on juggling career and family and even wrote a cookbook of sorts (Leslie Grand’s Guide to Feeding an Army, I kid you not). Abraham and Leslie always wanted a big family, but fertility issues led them to adoption, and later, fertility treatments.

My oldest brother, Liam, was the first adopted baby Grand, and he was followed by fourteen more children. In all, my family consists of five adopted children (two sets of twins plus one), nine born through fertility treatments (three sets of triplets), and one surprise. None of us are identical, which confuses a lot of people when they see our svelte, super-model mother and assume she had fifteen consecutive pregnancies. But even after a little explaining, people still think our parents are insane. Fifteen children and not a single rotten apple among us, that’s what our grandmother used to say.

Despite our size, we were the basic suburbian family. Big brick house with a white picket fence, a swing set in the backyard, a couple of dogs, a cat here and there, and that weird hamster my sister had for a while. We still don’t know where it wandered off to—possibly a house with fewer annoying children. Family vacations were always a disaster, and don’t get me started on holidays! Still, no matter how big our family grew, one thing remained the same—we never let each other down. We were solid, rock solid. And that is why, when Caden Grand came up with a hair-brained idea to save his best friend’s life from going straight down the toilet, we supported him without much question.

But we never, not in a million years, expected what happened next. What started as a charitable event, became one of the biggest rock bands in American history. So, without further ado, here is our story told by me, the quirky lead female vocalist, Olive Grand. The story of how one big, crazy family became 100 Grand.

CHAPTER ONE - THE GRAND PLAN

Urgent family meeting in 30 minutes. Board Room @ G. Ent.

Our parents realized early on that trying to scream over fifteen children was an act of futility. We either didn’t hear them, or we ignored them. It was easy to slip away undetected in a household filled to the brim with distracted, rambunctious, unruly children, but they quickly learned mass texting was the way to go. It didn’t matter where we were, we were sure to have our phones glued to our sides.

The family meeting announcement via text message worked beautifully that day—the one that changed everything—and brought everyone together, save one person. Sebastian Grand spent his days stationed in Italy, and his empty chair seemed to hold a special place in the room. No one sat in it, and some even stood rather than take his place. None of us were really shocked when Sebastian joined the Army, but it didn’t change the way we felt about it. Make no mistake, we were all enormously proud of him, but we always worried he would be deployed somewhere dangerous. I suppose that’s what every family worries about when someone they love enlists for service. Ours was not unique in that right, but his empty chair reminded us part of our hearts were somewhere else.

My father sat at the head of the conference table and tapped his favorite pen on the desk. His usually calm and relaxed exterior was crumbling, and there was not a sibling among us that didn’t get edgy when our father exhibited that type of behavior. Dad was the one who kept everyone else on track. The right track, to be exact. He was not one you’d call a fearsome man, but you knew there was a line and crossing it brought swift and sure punishment every time. He was consistent and fair, and probably the best father anyone could hope for.

Our mother joined him, standing by his side with her hand on his shoulder. It was an act of both encouragement and support, the same she carried out each time we had a family meeting, each time one of us needed her for anything, whenever something went wrong and needed fixing. She was the go-to Grand, the fixer. She was also the fun parent, but when she was serious, it meant we should all follow suit. If she wasn’t joking, there was nothing to joke about.

The rest of us filled in the room and took our seats around the conference table without a word. I immediately noticed my brother’s facial expression. The typically goofy and fun-loving Caden was stony-faced and had been crying. His puffy, red-rimmed eyes were a stark contrast to the crystal blue, sparkling eyes I was accustomed to.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret (shh, don’t tell the rest of my family). Caden has always been my favorite sibling. He once carried me twelve blocks from our house to Sandy’s Sundaes for ice cream when I broke my leg falling out of a treehouse I wasn’t supposed to be in, and ever since, he’s been number one on my list. I was eleven, and he was thirteen. It was just the two of us, stuffing our faces with ice cream, but it was the first of many ice cream dates I shared with my big brother. For some reason, Caden and I were more closely connected with each other than we were with our own triplet sets.

I sat and stared at him until he looked up at me. One look was all it took, and his tears fell again. I reached across the table and gripped his hands tightly. He dropped his head to the table, shielding his face from the rest of our family, though no one among us would ever judge him for being sensitive. Liam and Max shared a look, one that said they already knew what caused Caden’s pain but wouldn’t dare be the one to announce it to the rest of the family.

My father cleared his throat, which meant everyone should sit down and pay attention. “Children, I wish we weren’t gathered for such a somber occasion, but unfortunately, I have some bad news. Avery was admitted to the hospital last night.”

Gasps filled the room, and all eyes fell on Caden. Our father continued, “You all know her kidneys have been getting worse, and it’s reached a point that she requires a transplant or…” His words trailed, leaving us all with the understanding that it was devastating news, a life or death situation. Avery would die without the transplant. My brother’s best friend since kindergarten—the girl who taught me how to ride a horse, taught me sign language, kept my secret when I told her about my first crush—would die. Tears filled my own eyes, and I heard sniffling all around the room. Avery was a beloved part of our family. Grand blood or not, she always had a place at our table and deep in our hearts.

“She’s on the top of the transplant list. Insurance should cover most of the cost, but I’m afraid her family is running out of money very quickly. Her mother has been out of work for some time, and with the travel for treatments, and lodging expenses…” My father shook his head as he thought of all the costly things associated with Avery’s care that were not covered by insurance. “Grand Enterprises has slotted $25,000 toward her expenses as a charitable donation, but it simply will not cover everything,” he continued.

“Wait,” I interrupted, “this is a multi-billion-dollar company, and you’re telling me that’s all you can muster up?” I was annoyed, frustrated, in pain. My father understood my position, but he was hurt by my outburst, nonetheless. He lowered his gaze to the table and sat back in his chair, defeated.

“Honey,” my mother defended, “your father has to get these things approved. He may be the CEO, but the company is operated by a board of trustees, so he can’t just sign a check without approval.”

Caden lifted his head, wiping his face clean. “It’s okay, Mom. I know you’d pay for everything if you could.” He took a deep breath and stood, a new determination on his face. A look of worry flashed through his bright blue eyes, and I knew whatever he was about to ask of his family was something he was afraid we would decline.

“There is another way,” Caden said. “Something crazy, but it would raise enough money to help her family. Guys, her parents are about to sell their house to come up with the money they need, and I can’t let that happen.” He stood and paced the floor with anxious energy.

“You guys know about the Band Wars competition in Charlotte every year, and I thought we could enter this year. Even if we won third place, that’s a hundred thousand dollars her family desperately needs. We could do it, we could—” A screeching sound stopped Caden in his tracks.

Ryan, one of Caden’s triplets, interrupted him when he shoved his chair out from under the table and jumped up like something bit him in the butt. The chair hit the floor with a thundering crash as he rushed from the room. This time it was Caden and me who shared a look. We’d have to comfort Ryan as soon as we convinced the rest of our siblings to jump on-board with Caden’s hair-brained idea. Though Avery was clueless when it came to Ryan, Caden and I both knew he was deeply in love with the woman. He was terrified to speak to her about it, despite my encouragement. Losing her would cut him just as deeply as it would Caden and me.

Caden picked up where he left off once the door shut behind Ryan.

“We could win, guys. Half the people in this room are studying music, play an instrument, or sing really well. Half our friends are the same, and if they knew how grave Avery’s condition has become, I know they’d be on-board, too.”

Liam chuckled nervously. “Cay, you expect us to form a band for an event that’s less than three months away, then compete against bands that have been playing together for years?”

“About that…” Caden blushed and took a deep breath.

“Oh, boy. Here it comes.” Max knew Caden well and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“We have to win the local contest, then the regional contest to even qualify for Band Wars.” Caden scratched the back of his neck, distracting himself from the stares of fifteen people.

“Son—”

“No, Dad. Don’t. Just… just don’t say what you’re thinking, just this once,” I begged.

I stopped my father from issuing the death sentence I was sure was on the tip of his tongue. Whenever my father reasoned something was impossible, everyone else in the family agreed. If an idea did not have the Abraham Grand seal of success, it was dead on arrival. I couldn’t let that happen, not this time. Not with Avery’s life at stake.

“What would you have us do, Olive?” Sophia, one of my triplets, asked. Her tone practically bit my head off, but I knew she didn’t mean it. She loved Avery as much as I did, but she couldn’t help herself. Sophia was a beautiful person on the inside—deep, deep inside—but you had to dig through all the crankiness to find it.

“At the very least, we should hear Caden out. We owe our big brother that much.” Camilla, my other triplet, backed me up. Susie Sunshine herself, Camilla was the polar-opposite of Sophia in every way. Sophia sighed and motioned for Caden to continue.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but Avery would give her left kidney for any of you.” Caden paused as he heard his own words. “Okay, that was… What I meant was, she would do this for any of us. We can’t let her die without trying everything, and we can’t let her parents lose their home and everything they have worked so hard for. Worst case scenario, we look stupid and don’t win the local contest. What’s a little embarrassment for a friend?” Caden flopped back in his chair, nearly defeated. “I’d rather look stupid than lose my best friend. She’s… She’s actually considering not having the surgery and just… just giving up.”

The room fell quiet. Ryan slipped back through the door, his own eyes rimmed in red, and his face flushed. He righted his chair and sat, never looking at any of us.

“Family vote?” Quinn, the youngest Grand, quietly offered a way to settle the issue quickly and painlessly. There was no sense in torturing Caden or Ryan any further.

“Sure, baby, family vote,” Mom said. “All those in favor of Caden’s hair-brained idea, raise your hand.”

Ryan’s hand immediately shot up, followed by my own. By the time Caden looked up from the table, all of our hands were raised in solidarity. However crazy his plan was, we agreed. We would support him, even if it meant we’d go down in flames. And I want to be clear here, we all thought we’d make giant fools of ourselves, but for Avery, we would not only do it, but we would do it in style.

“It’s settled then. When do we start planning?” Dad asked as he scratched his chin and leaned forward in his chair. He picked up his pen and pressed it to a legal pad. Though the question was open-ended, we already knew the answer was right now. Dad had given his word to support Caden, and when he gave his word, it meant business. For Abraham Grand, business did not get put off for another day.

“I have class in about two hours, so let’s make this quick.” Elijah, the only one of us dedicated enough to his schooling to care about missing class, was the only one taking summer courses. He leaned forward, ready to get down to business, too.

“Okay, first things first. We need to come up with a name, so I can register for the local contest.” Caden’s eyes started to sparkle again, a little hope that not all was lost.

“How about…” Dad said, then my family started throwing out name after name, all of which were varying degrees of horrible. It went on that way for half an hour, and just when I was ready to bash my head on the table, Landan had a moment of unintentional brilliance.

Landan sighed, his moodiness only slightly less mopey than usual. “Dude, we better at least win the hundred-grand, or this is a giant waste of time.”

“That’s it! That’s it!” I jumped up and grabbed his arm. He startled and nearly fell out of his chair. “Hundred Grand! That’s perfect! Landan, you’re a genius!”

I watched them all ponder the name, letting it roll around in their minds for a while. One by one, they each smiled and nodded their approval.

“That’s a band I’d pay money to see,” a deep, melodic voice said. I hadn’t seen him enter, but when I heard his voice my heart started its usual flippity-floppity hoopla. Jude Beckett, by brother William’s best friend, otherwise known as the man whose face spent a good deal of time in my dreams, pushed off the wall and walked over to the table with a sly smirk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Will said. Will and Jude shared their weird best friend handshake they developed in fourth grade, but Jude never took his eyes off me. I could feel my throat seize, and I knew if he spoke to me, my only reply would be a series of squeaks and gasps for air. Luckily, Will began explaining Jude’s presence in the conference room before I had the chance to embarrass myself in front of my entire family—again.

“I texted Jude while you guys were running your mouths and asked him to come to help us. If we’re doing this, we need a bass guitarist, and he’s the only one we know.” I wanted to ask how playing bass was different from playing a regular guitar, but I was afraid it might be a stupid question, so I didn’t bother. Obviously, I was not one of the music majors in the room.

“I’m also the best. Don’t forget that.” Jude’s smirk was cocky as could be, but I found it to be nothing but adorable. “I also come bearing good news. Nick is on for drums.”

“Jude, thank you. I can’t tell you what that means to me.” Caden slapped Jude on the back and hugged him. Jude simply smiled, then turned his attention to me again. I’d swear to anyone he did it on purpose—stared at me with those gorgeous eyes and endearing smile just to see how far he could push me into the deep end. There was a good chance I’d pee my pants if he didn’t look away, but mercifully, Landan distracted him.

“So, Hundred Grand it is then?” Landan asked.

“Sounds good to me. What do you guys think?” Caden looked around the room. Landan was the only one to raise his hand. “Something wrong, Lan?”

“It will look better on artwork if you use numerals instead of spelling the word hundred.” He looked inspired, which was something Landan rarely was.

“Artwork?” Mia, one of his triplets, asked.

“I assume you’ll need advertising? Something to hype you up and get your name out there, right? Who here can design better than I can? Anyone else studying graphic design?” A touch of cockiness edged his tone, and that’s when it happened. The entire family started pitching ideas faster than my father could write them down.

By the time Elijah left for his class, not only did Caden have his entire family fully invested in his plan, but 100 Grand had officially been formed.

Mattie Bender is a Cereal Killer Sneak Peek!

Want a little sample of my young adult clean romance with mystery and suspense? Here are the first two chapters for you to explore!

PROLOGUE

Generally speaking, humans are born, they grow and learn, then become functioning members of society before they die and become a useless memory in the grand scheme of history. Life has a set of unwritten laws it expects people to follow. For the most part, people play the role and do what is necessary to survive in a world filled with challenges and never-ending opportunities for complete and utter humiliation.

Others, like me, decide early on that we will not conform to those laws in any way, shape, or form. Instead, we hide and hope for the best, that life will forget we exist and let us live simple lives in our dark, comfortable holes. The problem with that way of thought is this—life doesn’t forget about you, not for long. And when life realizes one of its underlings slipped through the cracks without experiencing the obligatory tortures it loves to inflict upon us mere mortals, it tends to pay it back tenfold. For me, life’s payback was Mattie Bender.

My whole life, I felt like an outsider looking at the world from a different vantage point. Not a total outcast in the sense that I’d die surrounded by a dozen cats and newspapers stacked to the ceiling, but a loner for sure. I had a few friends and hobbies—actually, I had one friend who moved when I was ten, but that’s beside the point. I liked social interaction and all that, but I always felt like the person holding the snow globe, fascinated by the scene inside but never really a part of it.

Some might say I was a nerd, but I called myself a connoisseur of collectibles. I collected anything of value that was sports or comic book related. I found my place amongst the superheroes, reading their stories and collecting their memorabilia. It kept me busy, so I didn’t have to try so hard to be, well… human.

Being human was about the most mundane thing I thought a soul could be. What the heck was our purpose, anyway? Enter the world just to grow old, work hard, then die? It made no sense to me. I believed in God and a higher calling, but I simply could not see myself in it all. Not until I was hit upside the head with a crazy stick, or perhaps I should say, a crazy person.

Mattie Bender.

Oh, Mattie. Dear, sweet, sociopathic Mattie Bender. Now, there was an anomaly among men, or women, as the case was. She had no boundaries, no limitations whatsoever, and life just let her have at it without so much as a how do you do. She did what she wanted when she wanted, without regret, hesitation, or permission. The woman rampaged through my quiet life like a tank in a china shop. And then she left.

Mattie taught me so much about life, I almost forgot about death. The balance point that makes the living part important. But Mattie, she taught me about death, too—and regret, and loss, and the pain of wanting and wishing for something so far out of reach it may as well be a star. Mattie was a star, burning bright in her own universe surrounded by people who were dull in comparison. At least, to me, they were.

But none of that really matters if you don’t know Mattie. To know Mattie, to really know her, you have to dive right in head-first and hope you don’t drown on the journey. I, Ben Parks, jumped—well, no, that’s a big fat lie. I dipped my toe in, and she dragged me under, but I’m glad she did.

Enough rambling. Let me tell you about Mattie, the quirky, funny, beautiful girl who murdered my cereal.

CHAPTER ONE

Staring at the ceiling for two hours before the alarm clock goes off is probably not anyone’s idea of the best way to begin the day, but it happened… frequently. I couldn’t turn my brain off, so I stayed up late and woke up early nearly every day. I’d read the sleep deprivation studies, and I knew I’d probably drop dead of coronary disease at the ripe old age of seventeen, but there was nothing that soothed my brain enough to turn it off.

At 6:15, the alarm sounded, but I was already in the shower. I could have sworn I heard it’s incessant buzzing, but when I stuck my head out of the shower, I didn’t hear it anymore. I shrugged and went back to scrubbing squeaky clean. Friday, thank goodness for Friday. It had already been a long week, and I had no desire to put any more effort into the week than that required by a Friday. Now, Monday, those sons of… never mind, the point is, I was already cranky and tired first thing in the morning.

I turned the shower off and reached for my towel but was distracted by a sound coming from my bedroom next door. I grumbled to myself. It was probably my mother checking the cleanliness of my room or searching for dirty dishes. I had no idea why she insisted on looking for something that was never there—probably an excuse to rummage through my stuff.

I got dressed and wiped the condensation from the mirror. My russet locks clung to my forehead, so I ruffled them up a little and left it at that. There was no point in trying to make them stay in one direction or another. They usually did what they wanted regardless, so I’d learned long ago to let them go. I brushed my teeth and all that other morning stuff, then decided to gather my things for school before going downstairs to eat.

Once in my room, I noticed a storage box was slightly off-kilter. It was at least half an inch away from the wall, which was a quarter-inch farther away than I’d put it. I sighed… Mom. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t leave my stuff alone. I paid for it with my own money from the part-time job I had, so it wasn’t like anything belonged to her. She knew how much my collection meant to me, but she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off.

I pushed the container back against the wall and checked for any others that were out of place. Everything appeared to be in order, so I gathered my textbooks and binders, stuffed them in my backpack, and headed downstairs. I heard the front door slam shut, a good indicator that my mother was already heading off to work. Dad would be home after I left for school since he was on the night shift. He was cranky when he worked at night, so I was glad he didn’t get home until I was already gone. Still, I did miss him. He would be on his way back to work by the time I got home from my study group, so I hardly saw him. Okay, okay… It wasn’t a study group so much as me sitting at a table in the library near a group of people who were also studying.

I heard someone scoot a chair in at the kitchen table. Evidently, I was wrong about my mother having already gone. When I walked into the kitchen, I saw a girl sitting at the table. Her back was to me, but she was very clearly not my mother. She had long dark hair, wavy with the slightest bit of honey-gold highlights. I could tell she was shorter than me, but in fairness, most people were. However, she was a pipsqueak… maybe a pipsqueak and a half if I was generous.

I glanced around and saw no sign of my mother, so I shouted for her.

“Mom!” I yelled. The girl practically leaped out of her chair, chocking on whatever she was eating at my kitchen table.

“Holy moly, dude,” she said, then wiped her mouth. “She went to work. Calm down.” She shook her head a bit, then went back to her food. She was pretty, that was the first thing I noticed about her, but beautiful or not, I had no idea who she was or why she was at my house.

“Did you break into my house?” I asked though I felt sure she wasn’t a burglar. Most burglars didn’t sit to have a bowl of cereal before robbing their victims blind.

She glanced up with a smirk on her face. “No, your mom let me in. Cool mom you have, by the way,” she said as she reclined comfortably and propped her feet on the chair beside her. She slurped the milk from the bowl in the most annoying way possible, then dropped the bowl onto the table, milk dribbling from her chin. She wiped it away, then gave me a smile.

“Want some?” she asked, pushing the open box toward me.

She had a lot of audacity sitting at my kitchen table with her feet propped up, offering me cereal from my own… WAIT. ONE. FREAKING. MINUTE!!

“Where did you get that cereal?” I asked rhetorically. I already had a pretty good idea where it came from, so I didn’t wait for an answer before running full speed up the stairs, down the hall, and into my bedroom. I pulled out the storage box I thought my mother moved, and sure enough, it was gone.

“NOOOOO!” I screamed, then fell back onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. “This is it. This is how I die, right here, from shock.”

“You okay, dude?” she yelled from the kitchen.

I growled, then shot up and ran back downstairs. I’d kill her. Yep, I’d kill her and bury her body in the backyard before going to school. Or maybe I’d skip school and plant a lovely vegetable garden over her rotting corpse!

When I entered the kitchen again, she was sitting in the same spot staring at the entryway waiting for me.

“There you are. As I was saying before that super-weird nonsense, the cereal was in a box—”

“In my bedroom!” I erupted like a volcano in the middle of the kitchen.

She winced at the sound of a teenage boy shrieking at the top of his lungs, but only for a moment. My voice cracked, something it hadn’t done in a couple of years, but the shock of what she’d done pushed me right back into puberty. She chuckled, then waved her hand like it was no big deal.

“Yeah… Weird place to keep your cereal,” she said. She removed her legs from the chair and leaned forward. “I like to keep mine in the cupboard, but to each his own, I guess.”

“In the… it’s a… my… my… OH! MY! WHO ARE YOU?” Language failed me entirely, not that I knew any other than English, but if I had, they would have up and taken a vacation alongside every word I knew in the English language, save those few.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a weird little dude?” she asked. She stood up and scooted her chair back with a screech—an annoyingly loud and nerve grating screech that shot chills down my spine.

“I’m weird? I’m the weird one here? You came into my bedroom without my permission, stole my cereal, and then, for the love of all that is holy, you had the nerve to eat it!” I screamed, all my composure lost at 6:39 in the morning.

She was slightly taken aback but recovered quickly. “I fail to see why this is so upsetting. It’s cereal, Benji. It’s meant for eating.” She waved me off again before placing her bowl in the sink.

“DO NOT EVER CALL ME BENJI! And it’s not just cereal! It is, well, it was an autographed 1989 Michael Jordan Wheaties box! Autographed! Autographed, you stupid head!”

She tilted her head to the side, her gaze focused on a random point on the wall. “Huh, that must be why it tasted like dirty socks.”

“You’re a cereal killer!” I screamed again, then lunged at her. She dodged my flailing arms like a pro and put me in a vice-grip headlock. I tried to struggle free—honestly, it was quite embarrassing that a six and a half foot tall boy could not wiggle free from a pipsqueak like her—but try as I may, she had me pinned good and proper.

“Calm down, kiddo. Maybe if you’d eaten those Wheaties in 1989, you’d be a lot stronger.” She chuckled at her own joke, infuriating me further.

“I’m seventeen! I wasn’t even born yet!” I yelped from her tight grip, which only grew tighter, the more I struggled. Really, it was embarrassing beyond measure.

“Seriously kid, you’ve got an unhealthy obsession with your crap, did you know that?” she asked, loosening her grip little by little until she was sure I wasn’t going to freak out again. When I fell limp in her arms, she released me. I wasn’t expecting her to let me go, so I fell face-first onto the floor.

I popped up, but it was pointless. Obviously, she saw me fall. I stood and adjusted my superhero t-shirt, vintage without a single blemish, and glared at her with absolute disdain.

“That box was worth $2500 before you ripped into it like a rabid hyena.”

“Seriously? Wow, you nerdy types take your collectible junk seriously.” She leaned on the doorframe that led to the living room. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why my mother would have ever let her in the front door—whoever she was. Then she dropped the hammer on me.

“Your mom said you’d show me around town. I just moved in next door, and I need to find a job,” she said, which was confusing to me since she looked about sixteen. I said a prayer that by next door, she really meant the other side of town, but I knew my luck was not that good.

“A job? What do you need a job for?”

“That is usually how one pays the bills. Any ideas?” She crossed her arms in front of her making her look even smaller. She was freakishly strong for a girl roughly five feet tall.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I think they’re hiring down at the local psychiatric hospital,” I said.

“Oh, listen to you. Nice burn, but seriously, I need a job,” she said, took three steps to close the distance between us, then ruffled my hair. No one did that to me except my grandfather, and I didn’t care much for it when he did it.

“Don’t do that. How old are you?” I asked. I fixed my hair—actually, I just flopped it the other way to be obstinate. I did, however, find I was curious to know anything about her. I despised that I was suddenly curious about her, but I couldn’t help it. She was so… so… just so.

“I’ll be nineteen in three days, why?”

“You don’t look nineteen,” I replied.

“Right, because I’m still eighteen,” she said with a chuckle. “So, just let me know when you’re free to show me around.” She ruffled my hair once more, then opened the back door and walked out of my kitchen, crossed the back yard, climbed over the fence, and went into her own house. All the while, I could not stop staring at her.

“What. The. Heck?” I asked no one as I continued to stare at an empty back yard, watching rain softly pelt the window. I had a thought I should grab an umbrella, but it was gone in an instant. I was too focused on another thought—she ate my cereal! I wasn’t done yelling at her for eating my cereal, so against my better judgment, I followed her out the back, over the fence, then banged on her back door.

She opened it wide as if expecting me to enter. I did. I’m not sure why since I was sure she was insane, and not entirely unsure she wouldn’t murder me and… WAIT. ONE. MINUTE!

I walked right up to her laptop that was wide open on her kitchen table—beside a brand-new box of Wheaties, of course. I bent to get a better look at the screen, but before I could confirm what I saw there, she slammed it shut.

“That’s classified info, dude, back off,” she said.

“Oh, so you can come to my house and eat my collectible autographs, but I can’t see what is on your laptop?”

“Nope, not when it could ruin my career,” she said.

“I thought you said you needed a job?”

“I did. Internships don’t usually pay, and Rox Graphics is no different. What can I do for you, Benji?”

“You have an internship at Rox Graphics? Like Rox Graphics, the video game developers who single-handedly changed the way we play video games?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t made such a big deal about what I saw on her screen. Maybe then I could have snuck a few more glances at what was no doubt the next installment of World Awakens, the best alternate dimensions video game in existence.

“No, the other Rox Graphics. Yes, dorkus, what do you need?”

I suddenly forgot what it was I’d followed her for and just stood there staring at her like a dorky teenage boy who’d never seen a girl before in his life. She arched an eyebrow and turned her head slightly. It was majorly creeping her out, but for some reason, I could not stop staring at her. She was so strange, odd did not begin to describe her personality or behavior. She was also much prettier than I had first noticed.

“Benji? I have hours of coding ahead of me, can I do something for you?” she asked patiently.

“Oh, um… No, I’ll just head to school now.” I happened to catch the time on her microwave. “Crap me, now I’m gonna be late because of you!”

“Me? I left your house fifteen minutes ago. You’re the one who threw a tantrum over a box of cereal, then followed me to my house to bug me.” She leaned on her kitchen table, and I stifled the urge to push it and make her fall on her butt. It would serve her right for eating my cereal then dropping me on the floor.

“I came to bug you? I came to… You ate my cereal!” I yelled again.

“Fine, I’ll pay you the stupid $2500. Will that make you happy?”

“No! It won’t replace the box, you… you… Wait, what is your name?” It was only fair that I knew the name of the girl who’d murdered my box of cereal, especially since she already knew mine—not Benji, but I had a feeling she thought calling me Benji instead of Ben would annoy me and did it on purpose.

“Mattie Bender. Now, do you need a ride to school, or—”

“Nice subject change. No, I don’t need a ride, but stay out of my bedroom!” With that, I turned and exited her kitchen, purposely slamming the door behind me. I wanted so badly to turn around to see if she was watching me cross the backyard in the pouring rain, but I stifled that urge, too.

Perfect. Wonderful. Just grand. A lunatic moved in next door, and I, Ben Parks, already hated her to death.