Thursday, May 25, 2017

DANGEROUS PLAY is on Swoon Reads!

I’ve submitted one of my stories to Swoon Reads. 😬

Yes, I know… HOLD ME. But here’s the cool thing about Swoon Reads (from the Swoon Reads FAQ page): 

“Swoon Reads publishes young adult and new adult romance novels. Writers can submit their original, unpublished manuscript to the Swoon Reads website, and readers who sign up can rate and comment on manuscripts to help us [editors] choose which titles we want to publish. Swoon Reads is an imprint of Macmillan publishing under Feiwel & Friends and was founded by Jean Feiwel.”

In a nutshell, you can visit the Swoon Reads site, create an account (super easy) and read amazing currently-unpublished stories, then rate and comment on them. Manuscripts that are highly rated are considered for a publishing contract from Macmillan.

So… would you mind helping a girl out? And get to read one of my stories at the same time FOR FREE? Yes? Ohmygosh, you are AMAZING. Thank you so much!


Below is the cover (designed by the fabulous Riley Edgewood—thank you!) and the story blurb as well as the first chapter. If you like that and want to read more, click here. It will take you to my page on the Swoon Reads site. 

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! 

And enjoy!

Seventeen-year-olds Jesse, Ashton, and JD have been best friends since they could dribble a soccer ball. Since, they’ve bonded over that sport, kickass video games, and hardcore classes. And they’ve always had an insatiable love of pranking each other.

Until a series of those pranks goes horribly wrong.

Harmless pantsing and cell-phone hacking become a thing of the past, and a vicious social war ensues. The boys’ friendship teeters on a misunderstanding, and secrets they’ve downplayed threaten to blow wide open. Jesse’s wicked smart with only one college on the dream list—Yale. But he’s been offered a bribe to cheat for a classmate, and after the pranks leave him girlfriend-less, the proposition becomes more appealing. JD’s got the looks and athleticism most guys would trade their left nut for, and he could have his pick of girlfriends. But he’s gay. And he’s had feelings for one of the best friends for years. Ashton’s a hopeless romantic, yet he’s never had a girlfriend, let alone a second date. And when a project partnership evolves into a more-than-friends relationship, he’s tempted to break the Bro Code—for Jesse’s girl.

A common rival pits them against each other, and the pranks escalate to serious injury. The boys will need to work together—both on and off the field—to take down their rival before a prank screws up their friendships and their lives. Permanently.

Inspired by the classic song Jesse’s Girl; truTV’s Impractical Jokers, and the antics of Miller’s former high school students, DANGEROUS PLAY has the heart of an intense World Cup match-up, the comedy of a well-orchestrated prank, and a cast of varying ethnicities and eccentricities. It will appeal to fans of John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines, Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, and S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders.

And… chapter one!


I’ve been pantsed. Again.

        I should be used to it. When it comes to Jesse, JD, and me, this shit happens all the time. And I wouldn’t be so annoyed if this wasn’t the third time today. Or if it wasn’t a lameass prank leftover from middle school. Or if I wasn’t standing in the middle of Hollister. With Hot Register Girl. In Batman boxers.

I hate my friends.

Hot Register Girl blushes as I pull my shorts up. “Sorry about that.” I scratch my nose with my middle finger at Jesse and JD. They’re holding up a turquoise shirt that reads If you’re hot, I’m single

“This goes great with Ashton’s boxers, yeah?” JD asks.

Yep. I hate them.

“You play for Penn Ridge, right?” Hot Register Girl points a pen at JD. He waggles his eyebrows, charm oozing off him like cologne off a Hollister model. “Your friend scored a hat trick on my ex two weeks ago. He was totally pissed.”

“So is JD,” I say. Her brow scrunches. “Tonight’s the midnight release of Urgent Fury Five. We’re hitting up GameStop and heading to my buddy’s for a shoot-em-up Zombie fest. He’s ticked I asked you out. Bros before hos, and all.”

JD’s words, but did I seriously say that aloud? I want to sucker punch my own nuts. No wonder I’ve never had a girlfriend.

This is probably a bad idea anyway—asking out a girl I don’t even know. But I couldn’t resist the sleek auburn hair, the tight shirt, the jeans I couldn’t take my eyes off of as she let me in the dressing room.  

I’m ready to bail when she tuts. “Movie’s out by then. I’m done at nine. Meet me here?”

“Sure.” I fumble for my phone. My next question’s bound to be a date-killer. “What’s your name again? I was too mesmerized by your beauty to concentrate.”

JD would be proud of that one.  

Twenty minutes later I’m sipping an Orange JoJu with my friends outside Kitchen Collection, mentally making date plans. Autumn (Hot Register Girl) has already sent me a text (can’t wait for the movie! xoxo), and I’m trying to decide if I should get her flowers or chocolate when JD grabs my smoothie and drinks what’s left of it in two gulps.

I shove him away. “What the hell, dude?”

Jesse runs a hand through his big hair. “I can’t believe you’re bailing on us. For a girl.”

“What? You’d rather I ditch you for another guy?”

JD grabs my chin and bats his weirdly long lashes. “I’d be damn near heartbroken if you ditched me for another guy.”

I swat his hand away. I love JD more than I love my own brothers—we’ve played soccer together forever and he’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember—but guy has a new girlfriend every other week. He’s tall, naturally athletic, and has that vampire-bed-head-hair girls still seem to go for. I, on the other hand, have never had a girlfriend, let alone a second date. 

“Look. I’m sorry. It’s just she’s really hot and my mind obliterated Urgent Fury thoughts. I’ll come to Jesse’s after the movie and you can whip my Zombie ass.”

  “Who’s whipping whose Zombie ass?” Meaghan Moreau materializes behind Jesse and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Not Ashton.” Jesse pecks her cheek. “He’s ditching us for Autumn Rains.”

Meaghan furrows her eyebrows. “Who?”

“Some Bayview chick,” JD adds. “You’re lucky not to know her.”

Meaghan rolls her eyes, then playfully pulls at the collar of my shirt, and I have to put some distance between us. Meaghan’s always been like this with me—with our whole group actually—but man if The Arsenal doesn’t stir when she gets all touchy-feely. This is Jesse’s girl. I feel guilty half the time just for thinking she’s hot. 
       “Is she cute?” Meaghan asks.

       I nod.

“Is she nice?”

“Seems to be.”

“Second date potential?”

“I forgot her name and she still wants to go out with me.”

“Yessssss!” Meaghan smacks a kiss on my forehead. “You have my permission to miss opening night of Urgent Fury Five.” She turns around to a very disappointed JD and Jesse. “What? He has a date with a gorgeous girl and you will not give him crap about it. Or mess with him. No pranks on his date. This could be the one.”

Meaghan then snakes both arms around Jesse’s waist, and they kiss like they didn’t just see each other ten minutes ago. JD clears his throat. I shuffle my feet. When they finally break apart, Meaghan waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy the show? There’ll be a repeat in fifteen. Gotta use the little girls’ room.” She hands Jesse a Kitchen Collection bag. “Here’s your mom’s birthday present. They didn’t have the Jules Fiarro cookbook so I got her Paleo A Day instead.”

Jesse squeezes her hand. “It’s cooking related. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

When Jesse’s mom isn’t at the hospital or the oncology center, she’s whipping us up every healthy snack imaginable. She’s asked fifty times for menu help for tonight’s Urgent Fury fest. I wanted to suggest ten bags of Doritos and a case of Cokes, but Doctor Hurd is textbook definition of persistence. Easier just to let her have her way. 

       Meaghan leans into Jesse’s ear. “Ya know,” she purrs, soft enough to be pornographic, loud enough for us to hear. “I could use an escort to the ladies room.”

The swallow over Jesse’s Adam’s apple is palpable. 

Meaghan winks. “Back in fifteen.”

“Don’t you mean thirty seconds?” JD asks.

Meaghan makes a face. Jesse flips JD off, then shoves his bags in JD’s hands. I shake my head, slightly jealous. Jesse’s girlfriend is cool, hot, and apparently a sex fiend. I’m sure JD regrets the day he suggested Jesse be Meaghan’s math tutor. But Meaghan and Jesse are a legit thing. He’s her longest relationship; Meaghan was Jesse’s first . . . home run. They’re already making plans after high school and just really seem happy together. 

I stare after them as they disappear into the food court crowds, wanting what they’ve got. Someone to hang out with. To help me pick out presents for my family. To talk to before bed and kiss in the middle of the mall and steal quickies in the girls’ bathroom.
When I turn back to JD, he’s digging around in the Kitchen Collection bag. 

“This cookbook looks about the same size as . . .” He whips out the receipt and studies it. “Same price I bet, too.”

I narrow my eyebrows. “What are you thinking?”

JD gets that goofy look in his eyes. “I don’t think Jesse’s mom’ll like Paleo A Day for her birthday.”

“JD,” I warn.

“Come on.” He leads me into Kitchen Collection. “I wonder if Spencer’s gift wraps.”


The mall connects to a massive Cineplex that shows twenty different movies on any given night. Autumn picks a rom-com that JD would roll his eyes at, but she laces her fingers through mine halfway through the movie and I could care less if we’re watching a rom-com or a documentary or a freaking Broadway musical. I feel the softness of her palm in mine and her hair against my face when she curls up next to me. This . . . this is what having a girlfriend must feel like.

She’s still holding my hand when I lead her out of the movie theater. The temperature’s dropped like twenty degrees so I wrap my jacket around her, stop her under a lamppost, break off a red carnation from the half-dozen I bought her, and tuck it behind her ear. 
“Beautiful,” I say. She blushes and presses her lips together.

“I still can’t get over how gorgeous these are. You are just so sweet.”

Yeah. That’s me. The Sweet One. The Adorable One. The Nice One. JD claims I’m too nice. “Girls like the arrogant, bad-boy type,” he says. But I can’t help it. When I like a girl, I want to spoil her. Mom’s upbringing, I guess. My brothers are the same way. And they both have girlfriends. Even Steven. And he’s in seventh grade.

Autumn squeezes my hand as we walk out into the parking lot. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?” she asks. “A friend brought me to work and . . .”

“I’ll take you home.”

Her dimple materializes. She drops my hand and slides her arm around my waist instead, then leans her body into mine, so close I’m overwhelmed by the smell of her hair—apples and a hint of popcorn. Will she kiss me at the car? At her house? On her front step? I’m so glad I cleaned out my car before I came back to the mall. 

When I open the passenger door for her, a landslide of foil packages spills out. Condoms. All sizes and shapes and colors, all over the bucket seats of my Mazda. Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill Jesse and JD.

“Sorry,” I scoop up every visible condom. “These aren’t mine. They’re . . .”

“Your friends?” Autumn chuckles. “They’re looking out for you. How sweet.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it looking out.” They know I never leave home without a condom, even though I’ve only had the need for one once. And that was a drunken mistake. “I think they’re trying to scare you off.”

Autumn’s hand is suddenly on my ass, and I freeze. Her hand migrates under my shirt; her fingers skim my belt line. “I’m not easily scared,” she murmurs. I dump the condoms on the floorboard and turn around, slowly, her hands sliding along my waistline as I face her. She backs me up against the car. “Are you going to kiss me?”

But her mouth finds mine first. Those hands that were on my waistline—one slides up my back; the other finds its way to the front of my shorts.

Oh, God. The Arsenal is fully loaded and ready to explode.

“I hope you saved one,” she murmurs between kisses, and I know what she means. It’d be so easy to pull her into the backseat and do things I only dream about. But I like this girl. I think I could really like this girl. And I definitely don’t want this to be the start and end all in one night.

        So, as much as it pains The Arsenal, I pull back and kiss her cheek. “I should probably get you home.”


Autumn lives in what looks to be a mansion in Bayview Estates and I’m suddenly aware of the ripped upholstery, the barely functioning air conditioner, and everything else wrong with my crap car—a silver Mazda that’s been handed down from my older brother to my older sister to me. Jesse lives in the biggest house in Penn Ridge Heights and his parents have more money than I’d ever know what to do with. But he’s my best friend. And a guy. This is a gorgeous girl I’d like to impress. And my crap car is probably not doing that for me. 

Also, Autumn doesn’t have a front step. She has a front wrap-around porch with a swing and three rockers and a slew of potted plants. The outside of her house is like a fall festival: pumpkins and mums and big bales of hay. Fall-leaf wreaths decorate the front door and windows, and a flood light illuminates what looks to be a choir of scarecrows in the front yard. 

She pulls me down on the porch swing and slides up close. I put an arm around her and ask her about school and plans for next year. Her answers are long-winded but vague—“school sucks” and “I don’t know. Maybe work, maybe community college”—before she curls up closer, squeezes my knee and asks, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Loaded question. One I always have a hard time answering. I’ve always liked to write, but I’ll probably follow in my dad’s and my older brother’s footsteps and major in accounting. 

I start to tell her this when she cuts me off with a tut. “Ohmigod I hate writing. Too many rules to remember. Who cares whether or not you have a comma in the right place, yanno? And my English teacher is such a bitch. She failed me on my last test because my essay was too wordy.” Autumn throws up air quote fingers and adds in a high-pitched voice, “Clear and concise.” She picks at her thumbnail. “And don’t get me started on math and reading . . .”

JD would call this a red flag. Especially considering writing’s kind of my thing. But I think of Jesse and Meaghan. Jesse’s number one in our class, without a doubt he’ll get into Yale, and the guy loves his Calculus. Meaghan would’ve failed math last year if Jesse hadn’t helped her. 

Opposites attract, right?

        “I could help you,” I say. “With English. If you want.”

Autumn’s face goes as bright as the floodlight in her yard. “You are just the cutest.” She puts a hand on my thigh, really close to The Arsenal and he flares. “We should do this again.”

“This?” I squeak, then fake cough into my palm. “Like another date?”

       Autumn nods, biting into her lip. I want to bite it for her.

Second date with Hot Autumn Rains. Way better than getting my Zombie ass whooped. 

I’m humming when I slide into my Mazda. I’m too nice, had condoms all over my car, drive a crap Mazda, and Autumn still wants to go out with me again. I start the drive back to GameStop, then wonder how late it is. The guys are probably already back at Jesse’s. At the stop sign at the end of Autumn’s development, I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s already after one. I also find a text. From an unknown number.

        I see you with my girlfriend again I will kick your ass

Thank you for reading! You can read the rest by clicking here. Thank you so much for reading and rating!

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

On Tenacity

A couple weeks ago, I blogged about my frustrations with publishing, how it’s so hard to keep going, to keep doing even the thing you love doing when you’re feeling crapped on in every direction. Rejections, crickets on full requests, the close calls that are never close enough, and the permeating feeling that I am nevereverever going to get The Call make it difficult to press on in the writing biz. Despite the fact that I’ve written seven complete novels and handfuls of other unfinished drafts, this go-round of querying has left me feeling very defeated. Frustrated. And completely bombarded by What’s The Point thoughts.

Last week this group of girls (and my husband) shut those thoughts up real quick. Hopefully permanently.

Soccer is a beautiful game, but it’s also a very cruel one. The better team does not always win. The stronger team will sometimes fall. I’ve watched my husband’s teams take the pitch for twenty years now, and in those twenty years, I’ve watched several strong girls teams advance to many rounds of the playoffs, including eight regional finals. Those regional finals? They’re the decider of the Eastern Champion, the last game before State Championship Game. They decide who will go and who will stay home. They’re exciting. But they’re also heart-breaking. I’ve seen a few one-goal games decided by cheap corners or garbage fouls or PKs. 

There’ve been a lot of close calls. 

But never close enough.

Last year’s regional final was probably the worst. We played our conference cross-town rivals, and both teams were amazing. On both sides of the ball, there was hunger, determination, and a lot of really good soccer, and the draw on the scoreboard at the end of regulation proved it. The game was still tied after two ten-minute overtimes and two five-minute golden goal overtimes. That’s 110 plus minutes of soccer, people. The game then went to penalty kicks. Theirs went in. Ours didn’t. And once again, we had made it so close. But not close enough.

And enough to maybe make most people want to give up.

But not my husband’s girls. They came back this year with a vengeance, determined to get to State Championship. So, in the off season, they continued to play soccer with their clubs, but as a team, they spent pre-season working out at a local gym, encouraged and fired up each other through group chats, and bonded as a team so that they could achieve their dreams.

They did. They won the conference championship, sailed through four rounds of the state playoffs to reach the regional final where they faced their cross-town rivals. 


The game was heart-fought. The other team scored in the first two minutes but our girls came back, tying the game up, then scoring the go-ahead goal. With three minutes left in regulation, the other team scored, sending the game into overtime. Our cross-town rivals scored off a penalty kick. Never defeated, our girls tied it back up. The game went into PKs and this time, our girls owned it and won the game.

And sent us to the first-ever state championship.

I could stop this post here. These girls came together as a team, spit adversity in the eye, and made school history. But they had one more battle to face, and hoo boy this was a big one. The team we were facing in the State Championship Game boasted an undefeated record, seven D1 commits and a 6’2” giant midfielder who could score one mean header. On paper we should’ve been clobbered. But nope. Our girls rose to the competition, they never gave up, and they left it all on the pitch.

The scoreboard said we lost. 2-1. Whatever. These girls will forever be champions in my heart. Their NEVER SAY DIE attitude, their belief in each other and in their dreams, their incredible poise and tenacity in the face of adversity are beyond inspiring. Also, they’re really freaking good at what they do. And they are SO fun to watch. I’m so proud of them. And I wish the whole world could know how awesome they are. 

They’ve certainly re-inspired me to keep pushing for my dream. Frankly, we can all learn a lesson from them, don’t you think?

Oh yeah, and State Championship Game? Don’t miss us too much. We’ll definitely be back.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Updates and such...

My husband frequently reminds me that I take forever to tell a story and get to the point so I’ll get to the point of this post before I elaborate…

  1. Sorry I’ve been MIA from everything online.
  2. Publishing is hard. And discouraging. And makes me kinda sad.
  3. Fortunately, the rest of my life is pretty awesome. So, there’s that. 


Cue elaboration.

The writing life’s been a spectacular suckfest lately and, when that’s the case, I tend to hibernate offline, shy away from most forms of social media. It’s a petty, selfish, bad friend thing, but it’s also… healthier for my state of mind. So, I’m sorry. Sorry I’ve not been around much to read good news or send positive vibes. I know some of you have told me that you miss me and well, I miss all of you too.

Writing a full-length novel can make you feel like the biggest success and the biggest failure, sometimes simultaneously. You write a story. You revise it a couple hundred times until you might feel like it’s good enough for someone else to read and critique. You revise again. And again. Send it out some more. Revise it a couple more quadrillion times. You feel like you have something that you’re really proud of. It makes you laugh and cry—every time you read it. Your CPs love it. Some even say “This is the one!” 

Then you send it out. 

And despite the requests and the nice rejections, no one in the publishing industry seems to want it. 

I’ve been through this awesome process several times. I’ve written probably the equivalent of ten manuscripts, probably am zeroing on the proverbial millionth word. Since my second manuscript I’ve sent out into the publishing world, I’ve won my way into first page contests, the Writer’s Voice (twice), Xmas in July, and Pitch Wars. I’ve had R&Rs. A lot of full and partial requests on various manuscripts. Close calls.

But never close enough.

These days, I’ll get a full request and barely get excited about it. The rejections sting a little less, possibly because I’m jaded to the whole thing now.

The hope has waned. Because I’m still over here. Twiddling my thumbs. Agentless.

And writing these days, man. It’s hard. I have a really horrible case of What’s The Point Syndrome. Some days I can power through it and immerse myself in my story. Most days, I’m overpowered by thoughts of “What’s the Point? No one’s ever going to want this.” or I question every word choice and sentence, afraid I’m going to offend someone or a reference is too old school or the story is just plain stupid. 

I spend a lot of days wondering if it will ever be my turn. If I’ll ever get the call. And despite trying to channel all that out, the thought of never being traditionally published makes it ridiculously difficult to write. 

I’ve tried taking a break, going to a writing retreat, taking another break, working on something else, taking an online class. They work for a little while, but eventually I return to the same place, mired with plaguing doubts and “what’s the point” thoughts. 

Worse—I feel like I’ve lost whatever writing mojo I may have had.

(Ironically the story I’m trying to revise is titled BELIEVE. Ha.)

I know there are plenty of people who’ve been through this. Lincoln failed countless number of times at his bid for President and he finally broke through (and then was assassinated, but I digress). JK Rowling was rejected fifty gazillion times before someone picked her up. I have a number of friends who’ve finally, finally broken through the publishing wall and have books coming out within the next two years so yes, I know, I know, I know. Persist. Don’t give up. It will be your turn soon!

But do we really know that? What about all those people who spend lifetimes pursuing their dreams and never achieving them to the level of success they set out to? Am I going to be that person? And then part of me wonders, maybe I think I’m a better writer than I actually am. Maybe I’m like one of those people on American Idol who thinks they can sing but ohmygosh they so can’t. 

I know the road for everyone is different. It still doesn’t stop the thoughts and feelings that it’s never ever ever going to happen for me.

I’m sure wannabe mothers understand this. Some people seem to have the easiest time getting pregnant. Some people try for years before they can have a baby. Other people try their whole lives and are never successful. I remember trying for at least a year with both my children and when I wasn't thinking about it, that’s when it happened.

And I know that’s probably the case here… when I least expect it, I’ll get that call or whatever. The problem is I’m always thinking about it. Working on “something else” makes me think abut it. And this waiting?

Absopositively sucks.

Writing-wise I’m just in a really sad, discouraged, bitter place right now. And idk if it will get better anytime soon.


So, I’ve been doing other things that DO make me happy. I’ve actually been watching television (I know, shocked me too)— The Walking Dead, Amazing Race, and I’ve fallen in love with Survivor all over again. I’ve probably seen Star Wars one too many times (never!) and Parks and Rec and, of course, soccer. I’ve been working on the tan. Tutoring. And reading a LOT of good books.

And while the writing life is kind of crappy, the rest of my world is doing pretty fine. I’ve been spending as much time as possible with the people who mean everything to me (aka my family) We’ve had a lot of game and movie nights and focused family time. I’ve been to see some great musicals with my daughter. I had an awesome getaway with the hubs to Asheville in March and then returned to that area with the family over spring break for spelunking and hiking and college visits (oy). My son’s made principal’s list three straight nine weeks, the husband’s girls soccer team is doing really well, and my daughter’s killing it in school. She just got named a Quest Bridge College Prep Scholar, a National Merit Scholar nominee (which means she’s guaranteed a commendation), and she scored crazy high on her ACT too. 

So, if me not ever getting an agent means my husband’s girls finally go to State Championship or my son continues to do well in school and my daughter ends up being a National Merit Scholarship semi-finalist, then bring it. I’d be VERY okay with not ever having an agent if those things were to happen. 

But still.

Anyway. I don’t tell you all this for your pity or advice or whatever. This is just where I’ve been and why and I’m sorry I’ve not been around to know what’s going on in your lives. I can’t promise I’ll come out of my hermit status anytime soon, but I hope you’re doing well and things are going much better in your writing world. 

Monday, August 31, 2015

Ready. Set. WRITE! Final Check In

It’s the last week of RSW. L
BUT it’s been a productive (and fast!) summer for me and I hope it has been for you too! Thank you so much for joining Katy, Elodie, Jaime, Erin, and I for our third summer of writing and accountability!
And to celebrate the end of another successful Ready. Set. WRITE! we are hosting
Manicures and Manuscripts!
Did you give yourself a manicure that’s a reflection of your WiP? Yes? Me too! My pic is below (with a small-ish excerpt) and I’m also sharing my pic on Instagram and Twitter (alisonmiller20 is my handle for both J) Please share yours too! I can’t wait to see all the pretty!
Along with my pic and excerpt, I’m including an overall recap of What I Did This Summer. Here goes…
How I did on my previous goal(s) and overall goals:  

1)      Write 5K total on one or both my stories.  CHECK! I wrote 6,116 words on my story this week. 

2)      Read one book. CHECK! I read the absolutely amazing NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES (Adi Alsaid). The ending was not the ending I would’ve preferred, but overall it was pretty awesome. Especially when it has excerpts like this… 

3)      Exercise at least five times this week. CHECK! I walked five days this week. J 


I wanted to make great strides on both my stories. I didn’t do so hot on the CM rewrite (9000 words), but I wrote 55K on the soccer story. Almost 65K new words during the summer? I’ll take it. J 

What’s next goal-wise?

Finish the soccer WiP. I’m close to the end. And then I have a gigantic hole right before the midpoint that I might want to fill in before I start revising.  

A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised: 

My soccer story is pretty much about belief—lost and found. The working title reflects that. The word believe appears 40 times in my doc and I believe (haha) that number will only go up.  And well, here’s the manicure. And an excerpt. See for yourself. J



The biggest challenge I faced this summer (ie finding time to write, getting sick, having writer’s block, etc)

Time. Always an issue in the summer (always for good reason though!) but why I do RSW so I MAKE time to write.  

Something I love about my WIP

Yeah, I’m going to go with that everything thing again. I started reading back over parts of the soccer story and it’s OH SO MESSI (see what I did there) but OH SO GOOD.

I hope you had a VERY productive summer and thank you again so much for joining us! Can’t wait to see your nails and your updates! Don’t forget to sign up on the linky!