Writing – Rachel Potts

Writer’s Retreat Aug. 2025

This year’s writer retreat came at an increasingly pivotal time for me. As in, I have been facing significant writer’s block and have refused to even look at my novel for the past several months. Did I work on my novel at the writer’s retreat? Well, no. But did I write? Well, yes.

This year’s writer retreat for me was a not just communion with my friends and fellow writers, but about rediscovering the joy of telling a story. I need that reminder. Badly.

Editing my novel, I’ve been riddled with road blocks, frustration, boredom, and self-doubt. So much so that I haven’t even been able to write anything else. But this weekend I did it. I wrote a short story.

This year, we all decided to choose a single prompt and each write our own story based off that prompt. I won’t tell you what the prompt was, but I’m curious to see if you can figure it out after reading my short story! It was such a fun exercise and I truly enjoyed seeing the different directions each of us took it.

Now, without further delay – my short story.

She woke up to the smell of burnt coffee and sweaty sheets. The temperature in the bedroom was stifling. Had her boyfriend turned off the A/C when he left? Why the hell would he do that?

She rolled out of bed, stripping the sweaty, smelly sheets off her body and made a B-line for the bathroom.

She flicked the bathroom light switch. Nothing. She flicked it a few more times. Still nothing. She swore under breath and then peed in the dark.

Her boyfriend, Tanner, had only just started sleeping over regularly and, up until now, it had been going well. But the lights, the smell, the heat – what the hell is going on? He could have at least texted her to let her know the bathroom lights were out. She double checked her phone. Nope. Nothing. Not even a “have a good day!” text, which was his unofficial official way of her letting her know he had arrived at work for the day.

What happened this morning? She typed out and then sent him the text while she walked into the kitchen.

Sure enough, the light for the coffee pot was on. She flicked it off and walked over to the thermostat. Off.

“What the fuck,” she groaned as she jammed the power button.

Hadn’t they just been complaining about how today was the hottest day since like 1932 or something? Had he lost his mind?

His phone buzzed and a “Failed to send” messaged popped up on the screen.

“Huh?”

She checked her phone again. No internet. No service. The SOS in the corner of her phone suddenly filled her with dread.

This isn’t normal. This isn’t normal. This isn’t normal.

She raced to the front door and flung it open. She didn’t know what she had expected but everything was normal. No signs that disaster had struck. Everything was calm. Too calm? No, she shook her head at herself. Everything is fine. Stop being a weirdo.

Coffee. She needed coffee.

As she cleaned and prepped the pot, she turned her phone off and then on again. While the phone glowed the “welcome” screen while it rebooted, she turned the coffee pot on except… it didn’t actually come on. She did it again. She bent down and aggressively ripped the power cord out of the wall.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” she mumbled as she jammed the plug back into the wall.

She tried the switch again, giving it a couple seconds this time in case it was only the “on” light that wasn’t working. But when the pot again refused to do it’s job, she threw her head back and let out an exasperated, “fuuuck!”

She was on the bring of an actual tantrum.

Storming through the hot, sticky apartment, she made her way to the spare bedroom, looking for the damn breaker. She was going to reset it all or burn it down. At this point, she barely cared which.

She threw open the double doors to the guest bedroom closet and…

She blinked. Hard. She blinked again, this time a little longer.

No, they were there. Stairs. Where her winter wardrobe should have been hanging, there were now stairs that, yes, she was certain, had not been there before. She looked to the right of the closet and there was the breaker, exactly how she remembered it. She stared at the breaker and then back at the stairs, her gaze going back and forth.

Finally, she settle on a decision and took a tentative step on the first stair. With both feet solidly planted on the first stair, she swallowed hard and took another step. The staircase creaked and swayed slightly. She clasped the wobbly case iron railing on either side of the staircase and took a deep breath before continuing. The staircase swayed slightly with each step, but it wasn’t long before she could see the landing. Just a few more steps and she was there. It looked like… an attic space?

There was a worn, burgundy, chair in the corner next to a small bookcase and lamp. All covered with at least a few millimeters of dust. The standing lamp was glowing, softly illuminating the small space. The smell of cinnamon descended upon her and she turned her head to see a teapot and tea cup sitting, waiting on a small table pushed against the wall. The rest of the room was bare.

She walked to the teapot and placed the back of her hand against it. It was hot. She lifted the lid and was met with a gush of steam and cinnamon.

She smiled softly and then, hesitantly, poured it into the teacup.

With teacup in hand, she walked over to the bookshelf and scanned the titles in the low light. She was surprised to find a compilation of her favorite titles mixed in with others that had been on her “to be read” list for eons. She asked herself, well, something comfortable or something new? She closed her eyes and pulled a dusty book of the shelf. With a small smile she thought, something comfortable it is.

She settled into the chair, a puff of dust surrounding her as she did.

She did not leave for hours. Maybe even days. When she needed to relieve herself, she noticed a door she hadn’t seen before that held a small toilet and sink. When she began to feel sleepy, hidden away in a cobb-webby corner was a cot, creaky but comfortable. She felt hungry and found orange scones, her favorite, stacked neatly on a plate on a shelf.

Eventually, she realized that perhaps she had been there too long. Didn’t she need to work? And she saw the stairs, finally noticing them again. She placed the book she had just finished back onto the dust shelf and descended the stairs back into the guest bedroom closet.

As soon as both feet were flat on the floor, her phone tucked in her pocket and long forgotten, began to buzz. Her WIFI and service were back up and she had hundreds of missed calls and messages.

She stared at her phone for a long time, her brow scrunched. Certainly, she hadn’t been gone that long?

She clicked on her messages, her boyfriends at the very top.

Where are you? He said. Can you believe what’s happening? He went on, are you safe? And dozens of messages along similar lines.

She crinkled her nose and realized that she was inhaling smoke.

She looked back down at her phone and then back at the stairs. After another moment, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and went up the stairs.

Writer’s Retreat Sept. 2024

Now that the first draft of my novel is done, I have a little more space in my life to update you all more regularly. Recently, a group of writers (who also happen to be my friends) set out on an adventure to wine country to, you guessed it, drink wine and write. Though, if I’m being honest, there was probably a little more wine drinking than writing. But who’s keeping track?

It was a wonderful weekend of friendship. We were able to let our guard down, forget about the worries of every day life, and completely enjoy each others’ company.

It also forced us all to step away from our current projects and focus on the writing itself. Each of us were given a prompt and a maximum word count and then we were let loose. What did we do? We each wrote, in our own style, a short, easily digestible story, chapter, script, etc. Then we got to read each others’ stories and provide feedback. Risky, I know. But we’re all good sports. Phew.

So, without further ado, I provide you will my fun little short story from the weekend. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave little comments on how much you love it 😘

Al the Alien

Al was an unusual guy, everyone knew that. If you asked his coworkers about Al, they might respond, “Al who?” And, when reminded about the man in the cubicle by the window with long black hair that was always meticulously combed into a perfect pony tail and who never took off his brown trench coat no matter the weather, they might say, “Ah, Al. The one who likes paintbrushes.”

Al did not speak to his coworkers more than necessary. It is unsurprising to hear that they would identify Al by his paintbrushes. When Al first started at the office, Al’s paintbrushes were a point of discussion among his coworkers. Al has paintbrushes of every size and kind; some with plastic handles and thick bristles, some with wooden handles and wispy bristles; and he delicately takes them out of his briefcase each day and sets them on immaculate display. At the end of each day, he would take the same care and tuck them back away, taking them back to his tiny apartment with him each evening.

At first, his coworkers asked him about the paintbrushes, “Do you paint?” “Who’s your favorite painter?” “Which paintbrush is the best?” but Al would respond only with grunts or one-word answers if he even responded at all. Eventually, they all gave up and left Al alone with his paintbrushes and barely remembered he was even there.

That is until one day when two strange humans showed up at the office in perfectly pressed suits, their hair slicked back, and their polished shoes reflecting the light from the jarring fluorescent lights, and asked where they could find one Al Smith. Curious, Al’s coworkers watched nosily as the two people made their way to Al’s cubicle. When they reached his cubicle, Al was not there but his paintbrushes were. His coworkers knew then. Something was amiss.

In fact, something was amiss. Al saw the two humans as they arrived and knew he didn’t have much time. He quickly grabbed his favorite paintbrush (because he did have a favorite paintbrush) and left as discreetly as possible down the back staircase that no one ever used. He exited the building and took a sharp right and walked as quickly as possible to the subway.

He wasn’t going back to his apartment. No, he wouldn’t go back there now.

He hopped on the next train and patiently waited for the doors to close and the train to take him away from the people in the suits with the shiny shoes.

A few stops later, Al hopped off the train, clutching the paintbrush in his pocket and scanning the crowd to make sure he hadn’t been followed by the humans. He didn’t see anyone suspicious and so he carefully made his way through the crowd and out the station.

Once he reached the sidewalk, Al took a deep breath and held the air in his mouth. He wanted to taste the gasoline, dirt, and sweat of the city. He didn’t know when he’d ever get to taste it again and he had grown accustomed to the dirtiness. The thought of fresh air, or worse, no air at all, sent a shiver down his spine.

Before dread could settle in, Al exhaled and hurried down the street. It took him another ten minutes and several turns down back alleys before he reached his destination, a quaint boutique called The Petit Paintbrush.

There was a whimsical jingle when he opened the door and the clerk looked up from the book they had been enjoying behind the register. With a soft smile on their face, they greeted Al.

“Welcome back,” they said.

Al nodded but did not return the greeting nor the smile. He made his way to the counter, his hand fumbling on the paintbrush in his pocket. The clerk closed their book and stood up, the smile remaining in place.

When Al reached the counter, he clutched the paintbrush in his pocket and took it out, carefully placing it on the counter in front of the clerk.

“Ah,” the clerk said, “you are in need of an exchange?”

Al offered a sharp nod.

The clerk gave Al a sad smile and fought the impulse to pat him on the hand. Instead, the clerk took the paintbrush in their hand and then swung the small door that led behind the counter open and motioned for Al to follow them. Al did so and followed the clerk to the back room.

“Wait here,” the clerk said and then returned to the store, leaving Al alone.

Al waited patiently, taking deep breaths of the dusty air, it was fainter inside but he could still taste the city. After another moment, the room started buzzing and a faint green light began to illuminate the dark corners. A hole appeared above him where there was once a ceiling and, taking one last deep breath, Al was sucked up and far away, the taste of the city still on his tongue.

What have I been up to? A lot. I promise.

Boba providing support as I trudge my way through edits.

It’s been a little over a year since I’ve updated everyone, but I promise I’ll make it worth your time. Or maybe not. You can be the judge of that. Who am I to presume?

The first and most important piece of news I have for you all is that I have completed my first draft of my new novel. I know, I know. You’re feeling emotional. It’s ok. It’s a big deal. The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Well, maybe not THE moment. The moment you are all probably waiting for is for it to be published and readily available for you to devour. Timeline on that is… well, to be determined.

After taking a few short weeks to step away and reflect, I am fully dedicated to the editing process. Starting with my last chapter. God, I need to rewrite the last chapter. But I’m here, writing this post for you all instead. Let me be clear, I am NOT procrastinating. No, I’m not. Writing this post for my fans (dare I call you fans) is important! But I promise, I will rewrite the last chapter soon. Very soon. Soonish. Like, in the next couple of weeks or so.

It’s not that I’m intimidated, no. Rewriting the ending is a normal thing. Didn’t Ernest Hemingway have like 15 versions of the ending for A Farewell to Arms or something like that? So, I know it’s ok. And I will rewrite it and it will be great. Hopefully, I don’t have to write it 15 times for that to happen. We will see.

So, onto the novel. I have been pretty tight-lipped around the plot. Often describing it to those that inquire as a “contemporary fiction, coming-of-age novel about young adults.” Is that enough for you? Well, ok, I guess I can give you a little bit more. You deserve that much just for making it this far.

The novel follows Judith, or Judy as her friends call her, and her friendship with her best friend Ellie. The story picks up after college at Ellie’s wedding but explores how their friendship begins and how it survives the tides of change that are so common among many of us and our relationships. Judy is forced to adjust to her best friend being whisked away by a new husband and the loneliness from a recent break-up, as well entering the workforce after college and facing life as a real adult. It’s a moment that defines many of us in our early twenties and can have lasting consequences – good or bad.

How was that? Hopefully enough to pique your interest. Also, let’s keep in mind that I’m still in the editing process. Things can change, though I don’t anticipate a change that will affect anything I just described to you. But who knows?

I will say, I am very dedicated to getting this novel edited and into the next phase – publication! Yes, because I know you have been waiting for so long. Certainly not because I’m tired of looking at it. No, certainly not.

In the meantime, if anyone has any hot tips on a good editor, feel free to share! You can share them in the contact form on my website or by DMing on any of my social media accounts

Thank you for sticking around! I hope to have a more exciting update for you soon.

Is there a new novel coming? Or am I just a big tease?

Picking lavender in Oregon instead of writing

I recently had a friend ask me, completely out of the blue, why I gave up on my website. I stuttered, totally surprised by the question.

“Well I – I mean, I… well, I kind of just forgot about it,” I managed to choke out and then blurted, “Plus, it’s not like I’ve had a lot to add.”

I tried to explain that I hadn’t really been writing for awhile. Had I given up on my novel? No, that’s not it. I just… I’ve had a lot of life changes, ok!

I was in grad school, there was family drama and illnesses, I launched a new career, and then, to top it all off, I moved across the country.

Excuses, excuses.

Going to a Jason Mraz concert instead of writing

Well, it will please you all to know that I’m back at it! Or maybe it doesn’t. How should I know? And to clarify, by back at it, I mean that I’m writing again. So, I guess I have something to put here on this forgotten website now.

And I’ll have you know that, in January, I wrote a whole chapter. That’s right, you heard me, a whole chapter! Not a very long chapter, mind you, but a chapter nonetheless. But then there was February, March, April…. Let’s just skip over those months (because that’s what I did with my writing) and jump straight into May.

In May, I gave myself a long look in the mirror and thought, you have to get your shit together, Rach. Either get it together, or give up. Well, I don’t want to give up. I want to write. And that was that.

Well, almost. I still lacked the right kind of motivation. I reached out to some writer friends who recommended blocking out a few hours a week where I wasn’t allowed to do anything but write. I think they stole this advice from some famous author, but honestly, what do they know? Nothing. I’m gonna sit in front of my laptop for hours and not do anything else but write? What a joke. I’ll be on my phone within 10 minutes. And that’s even if I turn it off and leave it in the other room. My phone addiction is off-the-wall. But that’s a discussion for another time.

Hiking Angel’s Rest trail instead of writing

No, no, no. I need accountability partners. So, I searched for a writing group to join in my new city. I’d been missing my writer community since my hiatus due to starting grad school in 2019, and I knew I needed to get myself back into that community. But I didn’t want a critique group, I just needed some likeminded peers to hold me accountable. Well, after days of searching (ok, maybe hours… ok, maybe minutes), I found a group through Meetup and signed up for my first meeting.

And that was it. Really. No, really really. I went to my first meeting back in early May and, not only have met some incredible writers here in the Portland area, but have actually made progress on my novel. REAL progress, guys. For the first time in a long time, I think I might actually get this damn first draft done. So, the answer is yes, there is a new novel coming! I promise.

That’s really it. That’s all I have to update you guys on right now. I will try to be more consistent in updating my website and not forget about its existence again. I’ll try to give you guys a glimpse into my writing process and also little nuggets of what you can expect in my next novel. It may not be consistent, but hey, it’s better than nothing! I guess, anyway.

Finally, the world slows down.

Perhaps the title is a little out of touch with the rest of the world. Most people would likely argue that the world slowed down in 2020 and then fast forwarded in 2021 as everyone desperately tried to catch up. It would probably read better if I had substituted the ‘the’ for ‘my’, because finally, my world has slowed down.

I touched briefly in my last update (over a year ago) that I was attending grad school. In fact, I was attending grad school, working full-time and working part-time for a few months. It was all good fun. But now I’m, thankfully, graduated with a Master’s degree, have left both of my old jobs for a new one, and have found myself with an abundance of free time that I have mostly used to catch up on my reading and old tv shows. Oh, and I’ve done some writing, too! (I also spruced up my website in case you hadn’t noticed).

Yes, writing. You read that right. I’ve been making some decent progress, not to toot my own horn or anything. Not to give anything away, but I made myself cry while writing a recent passage. It’s hard, guys, knowing what’s going to happen before it happens.

“This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until it’s done. It’s that easy, and that hard.”
Neil Gaiman

I’m currently working on the third draft of a story I started two years ago; after the publication of Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean, and before I started grad school. I’d love to update you on details such as the length or wordcount, but, honestly, I do not know because I am writing it by hand in a beautiful journal given to me by a couple of writer friends. When it’s full, I’ll start typing it up and sharing excerpts, I promise. But for now, just know it’s very different than my debut novella. Or I think it is anyway. How would I know, really?

Lastly, if you’ve made it this far, I want to say thank you for reading this. And, also, thank you to many of you for the encouraging words. I’ll never stop being surprised by people commenting that they can’t wait to read my next book. Really? Are you sure you mean my next book? You are all awesome!

With that being said, feel free to drop me a comment and let me know what you guys have been up to. Develop any new hobbies over the last couple of years? Read any good books? I’d love to hear from you!

Find the Time to Write

I’m embarrassed to admit that it has been almost two months since my last post. Life has become hectic, as it often does, and I have not made the time to update my website the way that I should. With that being said, I have been writing. Progress on my new novel has been slowly crawling along despite everything that is currently going on in my life.

This was not always the case. Being able to make time to work on my novel amongst the busyness of life was not always an easy thing for me to do. I know I am not the only writer who runs into this problem. It is something that plagues us all and we have to constantly work at it in order to accomplish our goals (which I would venture to say is just to finish writing the damn book already). I thought I would share some helpful steps that I have taken toward overcoming the “I’m too busy” mindset.

Join a writing group. This was the first, and probably the most effective, step I took toward dedicating time to write. I joined my writing critique group back around March 2017. At that time, I was attempting to rewrite Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean. And by attempting, I mean I had not written a single word in eight to ten months. I needed something to motivate me to write. Joining a writing group did that. This group not only held me accountable for submitting new and revised work, they helped me grow as a writer. They offered guidance in areas of growth and helped my find my voice. They not only encouraged me to complete my novella, but gave me the confidence to self-publish it. Throughout the last two years, there have been times that my commitment to the group has wavered, but I have always found myself returning.

Set a goal. This one may seem a bit obvious, and I’ve talked about it in my post Mondays are Good Days to Talk About Goals, but I can’t stress it enough, goals are important. They keep you accountable. If you are not the type of person who can keep yourself accountable, tell someone who will keep you accountable (like someone in your writing group!). Right now, my goal is to make time to write at least one page a week. If you think about it, this is actually a pretty small goal and can still be difficult to keep. Again, life is busy and writing is hard. This is why goals are important. If I decide that I’m too tired after work throughout the week to work on that one page, then I know Saturday morning I’m waking up, brewing some coffee, turning on my laptop, turning off my phone, and getting to work. That page is getting written, however painstakingly. Slow progress is better than no progress.

Make a deadline. Goals keep you on track in the day-to-day, deadlines keep you on track in the long term. When I was working on Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean, I made a deadline of having a finalized draft by the Summer of 2018. Not only did the deadline keep me on track, but it stopped me from getting in the cycle of rewriting, editing, rewriting, editing, and so on and so forth. I was then able to move on to my next goal of trying to get it published. I gave myself six months for someone to pick it up and then, as you know, I would self-publish it. Yes, it was a long process, but at least it is done. And now I am free to work on my next novel and focus on my new goal of completing my first draft of my new book by September 2019.

Basically, find the time to write. Make room for it in your schedule. That’s what all these helpful steps boil down to; they force you to think about writing and set aside time to focus on only that. Finding time to write isn’t going to magically happen, you have to actively plan it into your daily/weekly/monthly routine. Find an accountability partner (or partners!) to keep you on track and stop making excuses. So really, the only question that remains is, what are you waiting for? Go write!

Love Letter to My Journal

My journal. The one that I took with me everywhere. The one I wrote Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean in. The one that I took with me to Paris cafes, the beach in Miami, the pool in Ft. Lauderdale. What do I do with you now? Well, to start, I wrote you a love letter.

Transcript. I’m not sure what to do with you now that the book is published. When I open you and feel your pages, I can feel it all over again. The joy and, of course, the pain. Oh yes, the pain. I was only first beginning to learn what I know now. The answer to the broken sprinkler and the tears that stain these pages.

When I flip through you, you tell more than one story. There are loose pages, receipts, hotel memos, stuffed within you that threaten to fall out and get lost forever. Memories that threaten to get lost with the passage of time.

What shall I do with you now? Fill the rest of these empty pages? Leave you to get dusty and yellow? Forget you until I need you to help me heal again?

I don’t have the answers. But I will do what I always do, I will write until it all makes sense.

Let’s Talk About Last Week (1/22-1/27) aka The Best Week of My Life

Well, maybe not the best week, but certainly the best day of my life fell within this week. You might say what my boss said, “Rachel, that is a bold claim,” and I will tell you what I told her, “But you haven’t seen what I’m about to show you yet.”

Let’s start with Tuesday, January 22nd – the day I finally became a published author. Ok, first of all, I was a mess. I woke up around 5 AM, before my alarm clock went off, hopped out of bed, made a big pot of coffee, and turned my laptop on. Before my laptop was fully booted up, I had finished my first cup of coffee, quickly jumped up, got myself a refill, and plopped myself back down, thankful I didn’t have to impatiently stare at my computer as it warmed up (which takes, like, what, maybe one minute?). I IMMEDIATELY check my reports and find that five people (FIVE PEOPLE) have already downloaded my book. Furthermore, three of those five people bought it before the free promo kicked in and I was already almost on the floor crying because how cool is it that I made actual money off of something I created? After posting on social media, I texted all my friends. By this time, it was 6 AM. And it was not until I wrote this post that I wondered how I still have friends after texting them that early in the morning.

Between then and when I left for work at 9:30 AM, I was a ball of energy, floating between getting ready for work, texting those friends that were awake, keeping an eye on my stats, watching as my wonderful friends shared my book on social media. I found myself incredibly grateful for work, I needed that kind of distraction.

Very few people at work knew that I was self-publishing my book. I didn’t tell my coworkers on purpose, my thought process being, “if they don’t like it, I will have to see them every day and know that they have horrible taste in literature and I just don’t think I can live with that.” My boss was one of three people in the office who knew and, immediately upon seeing her for the first time Tuesday morning, she shouted, “Congratulations Author Rachel Potts!”

To which I replied without hesitation, “Thanks! The only problem is, now that I’ve achieved my only real goal in life, I guess I can just die now.”

After which, completely deadpan, she said, “You’re a psychopath.”

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. In-between work, I probably checked my stats every hour (definitely way more than that), I made plans with friends for when I got off because I knew I shouldn’t be home alone. And then I canceled all those plans and picked up overtime hours at work because there’s nothing like working a twelve hour day to tire myself out of the frenzy I had gotten myself into.

And it worked. By the time I got off, all I wanted to do was go home, watch an episode of Supernatural, and go to bed. I was so tired that I didn’t even check my stats before I turned off the lights.

The next day, Wednesday, January 23rd I woke up less anxious than the day before. I felt calmer when I made my coffee, more patient while I waited for my computer to respond. But, like yesterday, the first thing I did was check my stats.

Unlike yesterday, however, I gasped when I saw that my book had moved up to the #9 spot in the Free Kindle: Literary Fiction category. I clicked on the listing because, naturally, I needed to see my book in a top list. I was already grinning ear-to-ear when I saw it, my book casually keeping This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald company in the #8 spot. I stopped breathing. F. Scott Fitzgerald. One of my literary heroes. My name is next to…. I took a picture, sent it to all my friends (again, at like, 6 in the morning), posted it on my social media, and then, finally taking another breath, I cried. Like, wept. All morning, all the way to work, at work when I told people about it (because I HAD to tell them now). When I showed the picture of my book next to F. Scott Fitzgerald, my boss understood why Wednesday, January 23rd and not Tuesday, January 22nd, actually was the best day of my life.

All day I received texts and messages of encouragement from family and friends and people I hadn’t spoken to in years. People sent pictures of themselves downloading/reading my book and I cried some more.

I worked another twelve hour day and, again, it kept me distracted and calm. It also exhausted me, which again was wonderful because I was easily able to fall asleep when I got home late at night.

When I woke up on Thursday, January 24th I was still exhausted. All I wanted to do was roll over and sleep for the whole day. It’s strange, I can’t imagine why I was so tired. . .

I volunteer every other Thursday morning and this was one of those Thursdays. So, I forced myself out of bed, got ready, checked my stats, and was back at it by 10 AM.

When I checked my stats that morning, I had already surpassed my goal of 50 downloads for the entire free period. It was an amazing feeling and I was so excited. Unfortunately, I was so worn out that I couldn’t express my excitement at all. I didn’t realize until that morning that I had been running off of adrenaline the last two days.

After my volunteer hours, I went to work for my eight hour shift and felt like a zombie. I had been texting a friend about my state of being that day and about my stats and he told me that I should be careful not to obsess over the numbers. I wanted to argue, but quickly realized he was right. I had been too obsessed over the numbers the last two days. I resolved not to check my stats while I was at work that day. I checked them twice. At least that was an improvement, right?

I think it goes without saying that, as soon as I got home, I crashed into my bed. The last thought in my head was, thank goodness tomorrow’s Friday.

I’m going to combine both Friday, January 25th and Saturday, January 26th because they both went by quickly and, feeling much calmer, I was able to detach myself from my computer and phone and mostly act like it was just another normal day.

Friday night after work, I went home and indulged in cake and ice cream for dinner. It was the best way I knew how to celebrate by myself, eating my two favorite foods while watching Supernatural. Don’t hate.

Saturday, I went shopping with a friend and bought a new lipstick to celebrate (which I wore to celebrate my book release with some friends on Monday, January 28th) and then my friend took me out to get champagne so we could toast to my authorness (yes, I made that word up). Later that same day, I had another friend come over and we ate pizza and drank rum and coke while we watched my favorite Hitchcock movie, Vertigo.

It was a weird way to celebrate, considering I’m usually always extra about these kinds of things. Honestly though, it was exactly what I needed and I don’t think I could have planned anything to beat it.

In total, I had 168 downloads during the free promo, well exceeding my goal. THANK YOU to everyone who downloaded, shared, texted, and told friends & family to get my book. I couldn’t have done it without you!

Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean is still available on Kindle and is listed at $2.99.

Acknowledgements for Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean

I am forever incredibly grateful for the army of friends and family who have stood behind me and supported me throughout this writing journey. I would never have finished it without your encouragement and help.

I also want to thank my sister, Shawna Resnick, and my friend, Lindsey Russell, who traveled to Paris & Brest with me as research for the book. It was really hard convincing them to come with me, but in the end, I don’t think they regretted it too much.

Thanks for putting up with my terribly embarrassing attempts at French (I tried once, failed miserably, and basically made them order for me the rest of the trip) and for figuring out the metro system for me. If it weren’t for you, I would probably still by standing, staring at a map of the Paris metro with a confused look on my face, unable to ask for assistance. And in case you were wondering, the answer is yes, we ate so many Napoleons and drank so much wine.

I’d like to thank my sisters Bekah Potts and Julia Back for helping me make this book come to life. My website would probably be a weird static page with a picture of me looking horrified if it weren’t for Julia’s skills. Bekah painted the gorgeous cover page for my book. She took a very vague description that I gave her and turned it into nothing short of perfection. Seriously, you two are incredibly talented and I have never considered myself as lucky as I do in this moment that you both didn’t grow up to hate me after all the times I tortured you in our youth.

Last but not least, thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my book. You make the dream come alive.

Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean is now available on Kindle!

Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean

The cover, synopsis, and publication date have FINALLY been finalized. Guess what? You get to see it all first! Check it out!

The main character, Katherine, takes a break from her average, boring life; a life that has slowly drained her of the energy and happiness she once knew. A neighbor’s broken sprinkler inspired community gossip and disapproval, making Katherine question what her life has really come down to and where it is going. Out of nowhere, she quits her job and travels to Paris to pursue her dream of becoming a writer and to find a part of herself that is missing. Will Paris have the answers she’s looking for or will she further lose herself?

Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean is NOW AVAILABLE on Kindle!

Find it here: Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean