A while back I spoke with a guy who said he’s not dating because it’s too expensive. “It’s not the same for women,” he said. “You just have to show up and everything’s paid for.” His first point was valid. In Orange County a cocktail alone can cost upwards of $18 and a ticket to a movie, $22. (Fun Fact: when I first moved to the OC and went to a matinee alone, I was sure the cashier misheard me and rang me up for two tickets when he told me the cost. “I just need one,” I reiterated. “That is . . .
In our friendships, we forgive and forget all the time, but when it comes to our exes is it good or bad to give second chances? I’m someone who has gotten back together with exes more times than I care to admit. As an inherently nostalgic person, I tend to remember the good, totally forget the bad, and it’s not until I’m back in the relationship again that I think: oh yeah, I remember why this didn’t work out. I think this is because I’ve been fortunate enough to never have had a really . . .
To say I’m a Nicholas Sparks fan girl is an understatement. As most of you know, I up and moved across the country to the setting of his novels to write the first draft of Waiting at Hayden’s. So during my recent book tour, where I traveled through the South and then the East Coast introducing shopfiction™ to bookstores, I knew I had to stop in his hometown. The drive there was filled with excitement. And lots of missed exits and wrong turns (hence why I ended up having my sister’s friend, . . .
The other week, while traveling on my book tour, I fell for somebody. It was one of those instant, mutual connections—the kind you don’t have to question, or ask your best friend: what do YOU think about him? I love anything in life that doesn’t need to be questioned, because I am naturally someone who questions everything. (The other week I was in an online chat with someone in tech support for GoDaddy, and after three hours going back and forth with the guy about a problem with my website, I . . .
This summer, according to Instagram, every single twenty-eight-year-old girl got married. Except for me—and a few of my single girlfriends. “I thought I’d be married at twenty-two,” one of my friends lamented to me the other day on the phone. “And have at least three children by twenty-eight.” Yes, I thought. We all did, didn’t we? That was back when we were ten and twenty-two seemed like several lifetimes away (or at least after a shit ton of summer breaks and Christmases). Now, I can’t . . .
In my novel, Waiting at Hayden’s, one of my main characters is “ghosted” the day before her wedding by her fiancé. “Ghosting”, for those who aren’t familiar with the term, refers to a romantic partner disappearing suddenly and without an explanation. Excerpt: “She believed it was called ghosting, what he’d done. She’d heard friends at work use the term when describing what happened when men they’d been happily seeing suddenly disappeared from their lives without explanations. Kendall had . . .