Tales from the Darkside
BLOG.JENNIFERHARLOWBOOKS.COM

Where the Magic Happens

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

Virginia Wolfe said all a writer needed was a room of one's own. A mansion of one's own is preferable but sadly(?) I was not born a Kardashian (though I do have a big ass). But I do have a room of my own. A downstairs really as I've trained my brothers well so they only come downstairs to do laundry so I also have a living room pretty much of my own, so thank you scared brothers and super nice parents. But the majority of my time is spent in said room chained to my desk like now writing. The only times I really leave said desk is when I force myself out of the house every other day to trek to the library so I can chain myself to a desk there. Since I got the evil eye from a librarian when I tried to take a picture there all I can provide is a photo of my deskal area so when you imagine me hard at work, because I know y'all spend your days doing this all the time. It will give you insight into how the magic happens.

      

A lot going on, right? Since I don't know how to add numbers to the picture we'll stop from the top and work our way down. 

There is my lamp with special light bulbs that cost more than my chair so I don't suicide on particularly cloudy weeks. Snaking up it is Dennis, my chestburster from Alien. His name is Dennis because I'm weird. 

The artwork on the wall is, what I like to call, evil chic. There's a sign for a witchcraft shop, then a machete with "Bette" written on it along with a pretty flower. It sure gave the workmen pause when they saw it. The chic contingant is represented by my one actual piece of art, Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. I say art, but like the chair I got it at Ikea. Still the classiest thing I own and it's of a movie star playing a prostitute.

The desk itself has my ancient computer where I play Glee Radio all day while I write. Beside that is my latest work, right now called "The Werewolf Sings the Blues." I write in a notebook first then the first edit is when I type it in the computer. There are a million pens, a Thesaurus, doggie treats for when Lulu Belle as I have rechristened her deigns me with her presence, a smelly candle as my house always smells of boy, and a clock so I can stare at it and count the minutes until I can leave the desk.   

So, that's my office where I spend eight hours a day. At least my boss doesn't mind the machete.

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: "I Hate Love" by Garbage
I'm reading: Faceless Killers by Henning Mankel  ***

Harlows Assemble!...for Sunday Supper. (Where's Loki when you need him?)

**MILD MOVIE SPOILERS**

Still here? You've been warned. 

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

                      

Setting: A rare dinner where every Harlow member DAD, MOM, RYAN, LIAM, TREVOR, and MOI are seated around the table enjoying ribs. This conversation picks up about half-way through dinner. Let's enjoy this program, already in progress...

MOI: So, I do any of you have any suggestions for blog posts? I'm coming up empty.

TREV: You should write one about how awesome John and I are at League [of Legends]. We've been playing for like twelve hours and we've almost destroyed the turret.

MOI: Yeah, no. 

LIAM: You should write about The Avengers.

MOI: Yeah, because every other blogger and their mother hasn't already done it and probably better than I could.

LIAM: If you want more people to read it, you need to write about popular topics, not just stories about your stupid cat.

MOI: Have you ever read my blog? I barely write about the cat.

LIAM: I...

RYAN: No one reads your stupid blog. 

MOI: Gee, thanks Ry. Love you too.

MOM: I know what you should write about. You should write about the actor who played Loki. He was my favorite. He had so much...depth.

MOI: [raising an eyebrow] You do realize that that was like the fourth time you've brought up that Loki dude in the past two days. Like every time we even mention The Avengers immediately you pipe up with how cute and awesome whats-his-face is.

MOM: I do not!

DAD: Pass the rice please.

TREV: You totally do.

LIAM: Yeah, I think Mom's on a one-way train to Cougartown with Loki.

MOI: It is very "in" right now. 

MOM: I just thought he was good is all.

RYAN: You know what you should write about, Jen. How hot Scarlett Johannson's ass was in that movie.

LIAM: Yeah!

TREV: Totally.

RYAN: I'd read it then.

DAD: Can I have the butter?

MOI: Here, Dad. [to boys] Two reasons that's not happening. 1) I'm a straight female, I barely noticed her ass. 2) I don't talk about asses. Period. I'm a lady.

LIAM: Oh, like you haven't talked about Jeremy Renner's ass on multiple occasions.

MOI: [silence; then] I haven't...recently. Shut up. No, no talk of movie star asses. 

RYAN: Scarett's ass deserves its own post at the very least.

MOI: Whatever. And I'm sorry? All you took away from her character was that she has a great ass? How about how she used her brain to get information out of men. Or how she held her own against every man and alien thrown against her.

LIAM: That stuff was kind of overshadowed by her awesome ass, sorry.

TREV: Yeah, and like you were drooling over Jeremey Renner for his mind.

MOI: I was!

LIAM: And his ass.

MOI: Shut up.

DAD: Pass the rolls, please.

MOM: I know what you should write about, Jen.

TREV: Loki's ass?

MOM: [shooting her youngest a look] You should write about Joss Whedon. How important he's been to pop culture.

MOI: I really don't know what to say that hasn't been said. The man is a pop culture God, end of story. I probably wouldn't have a career without Buffy or Firefly.

TREV: And didn't he show Nathan Fillion's ass in that one episode? Know how important that episode was to you.

MOI: Oh my God! Can we please, for the love of God, stop talking about asses!

RYAN: [standing up] Great dinner, Mom. I gotta take a massive shit now though.

LIAM: [standing too] I know, dude. I'm prairie dogging it right now.   

MOI: Jesus Christ! Can we go one dinner without poo being mentioned?

TREV: [standing] If we did, no one would recognize us. Gotta go destroy that turret.

MOM: [standing as well] You'll think of something for your blog, Jen.

MOI: [to self] Yeah, so far the topic could be The Avengers, Joss Whedon's awesomeness, Mom's trip to Cougartown, Scarlett Johannson's ass, Jeremy Renner's ass, Nathan Fillion's ass, or how at every dinner fecal matter is addressed. Great. They're gonna get cat videos tomorrow.

DAD: [standing] Or...you can write about them all.

MOI: Who'd believe this conversation ever took place?

DAD: Anyone's whose ever had dinner with us.

Which is why so few people come to supper with The Harlows.

Until next time, this is the ass obsessed Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...  

Song of the Week: "Life is Life" by Opus
I'm reading: Bad Monkeys by Mark Ruff    ****



 

Summer Movies

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

I think I have to be downgraded from cineophile to hobbiest. This year I've only been to three movies, Tinker Tailor Solider Spy, The Hunger Games, Cabin in the Woods. I used to go once a week, now not even once a month. Blame crappy movies (I do), my busy life, or my ever increasing laziness but my love of movies is waning. Even when I have to chose the movies I'm looking forward to in summer I couldn't even come up with ten. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. The Avengers (Joss Whedon? Multiple superheroes? So there)
2. The Dark Knight Rises (please let them do Catwoman justice)
3. Prometheus (It is so an Alien movie)
4. Brave (a girl following her own path? love it)
5. Dark Shadows (May it not be as boring as the original)
6. The Dictator (May it not be more Borat than Bruno)
7. Rock of Ages (I'm a musical junkie)
8. The Bourne Legacy (I heart JR)

That's it. Not even ten! No horror movies either! Hollywood, you are letting me down! For shame!

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside. See you at the movies! Maybe.

Song of the Week: Hell on Heels by Pistol Annies
I'm reading: The Walking Dead: Rise of The Governor by                  Robert Kirkman               ****

My First Reading (or How I Learned Yelling Sex! Vampires! Zombies! Always Draws a Crowd)

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

A few weeks ago I offered to help out at the Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America booths at the Kensington Day of the Book Festival. I thought I would just take an hour or two in a booth to tell people about what the organizations did. Meetings, community of writers, blah blah blah. Then I received an e-mail telling me I would be one of five authors featured in the festival and that I was supposed to do a reading. That hundreds, possibly thousands would be at the festival. Needless to say I was a little daunted by this prospect. I hadn't been in front of an audience since high school in my acting days. What if I burped? What if I forgot how to read? What if I was boring? So the day before I practiced three times, only stumbling a few times but quickly covering up like I was taught in acting class. I was as ready for the hundreds who might show up as much as I could be.

I didn't need to worry. I forgot that my life is ruled by Murphy's Law. 

It was pouring down rain, freezing, windy, and there were maybe three people in attendance while I was there. The day before, fine. Beautiful. The day I'm supposed to shell my baby, not so much. At least I was only there for about an hour, my poor fellow authors had been manning the booths for hours. Kudos to them. Us brave and freezing five walked over to our deserted reading area. We were the only people in the audience. It was a bummer. One author decided not to even go. I so didn't blame him, we were performing for each other. The whole purpose was to sell books, hard to do when you have no customers. The first two authors went, just giving a general overview of their books. I panicked. I hadn't prepared anything but my reading. They each spoke for about five minutes, my planned reading was ten as I was told to do. The entire thing was a cluster fuck from the get go. But since I had nothing to lose I decided to go big then go home.

My turn came third. I had my book marked to my reading, I looked great, and I wasn't nervous at all. Until I decided to implement my master plan I had come up with ten seconds before. I got behind the microphone, and smiled at my fellow authors. "I'm going to try something. I apologize in advance." Then, into the microphone, as loud as I could I bellowed, "SEX! VAMPIRES! SEXY VAMPIRES! ZOMBIES! MURDER!" The people working the booth beside the reading area, including three teenagers, all looked over at me with surprise. 

I heard one ask, "Did she say zombies?" 

"Yes, ma'am, I did! Zombies! Everyone loves zombies! And sex! Come on over!"

And damned if four other people, including the teens, came over and listened as I did my reading. I was kind of afraid to look at my fellow authors in case they disapproved of my antics, but I did almost double our audience. And the teens stayed after my reading to listen to my fellow Midnight Inker and semi-mentor Alan Orloff (Killer Routine, Killer Campaign) do his stand-up. They even giggled at his jokes. The cherry on the cupcake was that those same girls came over to me after and asked how they could buy my book. So, in the end, I had two potential sales by making an ass of myself. Got a good story out of it too.

So that was my first reading. The glamorous life of an author, huh?

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: Watching You Watching Him: Eric Hutchison
I'm Reading: Vampire Zero by David Wellington   ****

 

Harlow House for Wayward Boys

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

A few days ago my friend Lydia came over to my house for the first time. We've been friends for about six years and this was the first time I'd ever extended such an invitation. It soon became evident why I had waited so long to give her the Golden Ticket. I hustled her downstairs to my "area" where we stayed for a few hours. When she wanted a drink, I went upstairs to get it for her. When she wanted to meet my mother, I escorted Mom down. But wily Lydia managed to get upstairs. It took her all of a second to see why I all but body blocked her from going up there. As I walked her to her car, she stopped me, stunned and said, "There are so many boys!" To whit I replied, "We're only at half capacity now. You should see it on the weekends." Because since I was in middle school my house has been considered The Harlow House For Wayward Boys. 

                       

I am cursed with boys, and not in a good way. For every one girl cousin I have, there are two males. Both my parents only had brothers, and I have three, all younger: Ryan, Liam, and Trevor. And they all have a million friends. I've always been surrounded by boys. When I was a child through teenager-hood I barely left my room to escape from all the farts, burps, fights, and from being "assassinated" in jest. There was never a time from after school to when I went to bed that there wasn't a wrestling match or video game being played by at least two boys. The house was the den for all the neighborhood boys. We'd barely have food as the moment Mom came home with the groceries they'd descend like locusts and an hour later she'd need to start planning her next shopping trip. When I finally got my own place, with my own kitchen, my roommates found a stash of food in my closet and thought I was a food hoarder. I was (still am) because if I wanted a snack beyond that first hour I had to plan ahead. 

But this onslaught wasn't just for the snacks and video games. All the neighborhood boys gravitated to us because we have something their parents sadly never provided: happiness and stability. As I said before, and really can't say enough, I'm blessed with my family. We all love and like each other. My parents were never selfish and knew to give us what we needed, both material and immaterial. Sadly, we seem to be an exception judging from the amount of wayward boys who have come through our door. The stories I've heard have run the gammant from parents calling the cops because the boy wouldn't come out of his bedroom to just plain neglect, parents not saying a word to their child for days. I've known boys who were kicked out of their homes and had to live in the woods to alcoholics. On one occasion 17-yr-old me had to talk to a mother of one boy about her overreaction to her son's bad behavior (cops). I've spent countless hours listening to these boys talk about their home lives and lack of support and self-esteem, and about how to plan for the future and learn to like themselves. We've handled deaths, divorces, abuse, drug addiction, and hospitalizations. These boys reminded me of stories of Romanian babies in the orphanage who weren't touched in infancy, basically ignored, and now not only couldn't stand to be touched they had serious issues. It made me really wish people needed to take a test and get a licence to have a child. Really. 

In a few rare cases, these wayward boys ended up an unofficial Harlow, living in our house, in once case for years because they had no place to go. These boys I called my semi-brothers, but really we treated them like just another Harlow. After three brothers you barely notice when more are added to the mix. The last one left two years ago, but my youngest brother is wrangling to get his friend a room at the House as his father was arrested and Dad's girlfriend kicked the kid out of his own house. He's spent a few weeks on our couch. 

Most of the boys moved on, had children and got jobs. Only two have ever been arrested after adulthood. They lead productive lives and treat their children better than they were treated. I like to think us Harlow's had something to do with that. So here's to the graduates of the Harlow House For Wayward Boys:

The Ryan Class: Bill, Nick, Nick, Travis, Robbie, Mike, Eric

The Liam Class: Chris, Nick, Andrew, John, Mark, Dingo

The Current Trevor Class: AJ, John, Chris

Good on you, boys. We love you.      

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: "Smile" by Nat  King Cole
I''m reading: The Passage by Justin Cronin    ****

Just Dance Bitches!

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

                
                 
For once my addictive personality has found something healthy to latch onto now that I've become a little disillusioned with Game of Thrones. (The last two episodes have left me underwhelmed. Less pointless sex, more character development.) Anyway,  my newest obsession comes in the form of...video game exercise. Yes, not only am I Benjamin Buttoning from adult to teenager as I get older but apparently I'm switching genders too. My brothers played video games ALL THE TIME and still do, but I avoided them in favor of books and far too much television. Then my mother saw a commercial for Wii's Just Dance 3 and decided she wanted to use the game to lose weight. 

See, with the exception of my weight lifting bro Ryan, us Harlow's are a sedentary bunch. My idea of exercise is walking up to the fridge. My body is simply a vehicle for my brain, like a car. An Accura will get you were you're going just like a Porche, but the Accura requires less time wasting upkeep. I'm healthy as a horse. I like chocolate and hate sweating. So I have a few extra pounds, I'm not getting my own TLC show The 1,000 Pound Writer, though it would help book sales. Story short, I'm not athletic, never have been. I do have a gym membership and go twice a week for 1/2 an hour each time. I just have every second of it. Even with the cable TV, book, and/or music I'm bored to tears on the Elliptical. So when Mom wanted to try the Wii alternative, I was on board.

Now I've gone overboard.

I do the majority of my writing at home at my small desk in my bedroom. I usually have the internet radio from iTunes on as I stare at the blank page trying to create. This gets very boring very quickly. I can usually sit still for at most two hours before I need to get up and move around. Before Just Dance3, Just Dance 2, Just Dance ABBA, Just Dance Michael Jackson, and Zumba 2 (told you I had a problem) I'd get a snack or play with the cat. Now I do three songs (approx 10min), dancing around the room with a remote in my hand like an idiot. The thing is, it really helps. I can usually clear my mind and come up with what will happen next. Just getting away from the story and doing something mind numbing reboots the old brain. This usually happens at least four times a day, forty minutes of exercise five times a week. And the happy bi-product is not only do I continue writing at a good click I'm apparently slimming a little. (I don't see it but my family say it's happening.) I don't know how long this obsession will last, but hopefully long enough for me to finish my next book and fit into my college jeans.

So Just Dance Bitches!

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: Human by The Killers
I'm reading: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugelendies  ****  

I Am NOT a Hipster!

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

hipster: subculture that values independent thinking, counter-culture, and appreciate art, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter (per Urban Dictionary)

                
A few weeks ago I was at PLA and my publicist Steven came over. I can't recall what exactly he said but at the end of it he called me a hipster. I then (jokingly) threatened to punch him if he called me that again. Because, despite my love of graphic t-shirts, esoteric pop culture, and glasses, I AM NOT A HIPSTER! I am just cool.

When I was in high school, I was one of the few who shopped at Hot Topic. My fellow students gazed at my shirts with *gasp* funny sayings or comic book characters on them with confusion. I didn't shop at Abercrombie or Ralph Lauren like them. I refused to even set foot in those stores on principal (and because they never had anything in my size as I've never been a size -12.) I liked my style. I liked sometimes wearing all black or having Marilyn Monroe across my chest. I also preferred independent movies to big budget ones. I liked finding old John Cassavettes or Kevin Smith films because they focused on characters not explosions. I wore black nail polish, which sparked a lecture from my grandfather on "going over to the darkside." I liked that I was an individual with only one or two others at my school who were the same. It was just my style: comfortable, tongue in cheek, expressive, not the norm. Then, when I had my head in my writing, that last one changed.

I remember the first time I noticed that everyone was dressing like me. I was working as an investigator and had to go to a college campus to get some records. There I was in my business suit strolling along when I noticed a group of "kids" about five years younger than me dressed in graphic t-shirts, wearing glasses, and talking about a Kevin Smith movie. Strange. Got stranger when I made it a few more steps and found another group. Then another. They were everywhere. It freaked me out just as much as when I was in my feminism class at UVA and I looked across the room and every girl there was wearing the exact same Polo shirt in three different colors with the same hair style while I was in my leopard print top. Being subversive had suddenly become the in thing to do. It was no longer subversive, it was mainstream. Individuality had been co-opted by the thing I'd been trying to fight against, a sheep mentality. Corporations had taken individuality and commoditized it. Watered it down. It's not a sub-culture, it's the mainstream. This point was most evident when I went to Comic Con that same year.

I was really into comics when I was a young adult. X-Men, Batman, Watchmen, Sandman I loved reading them all. No one else I knew did, not even the guys. I loved comics so much when I was twelve my family and I went to Comic Con in San Diego. I loved it. I talked comics with the publishers, other fans, found cool horror books, saw people dressed in costumes, it was awesome. There were only about 25,000 people there so you could move around and get into panels. Then Hollywood got involved and it lost its sheen of awesomeness. When I went back over ten years later I couldn't get into anything. The comic vendors were literally pushed off to the side. It sold out. 

I should be happy that young people now like independent films. That girls can like comic books without being scorned. That it's okay to wear glasses, black nail polish without being thought a Satanist and actually know what irony is. But if you only do it because everyone else is, if you don't actually like those kinds of films or books, and you're wearing glasses without having bad vision (I mean, really?!?) then you're kind of spitting in the face of said individuality. And that way the very thing you're supposedly fighting against wins. What makes a person cool is being brave enough to be yourself no matter the cost.

Listen to your elder.    


Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow, signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: People Are Strange by Echo & The Bunnymen
I'm reading: God Shaped Hole by Tiffanie DeBartolo  *****

Act-iiiiiing!

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

                        

One of the most common questions as an author I'm asked, like every darn time, is what advice I would give to aspiring writers. There's the old standbys, "Read A LOT", "Write, write, write," and "Don't wear white shoes after Labor Day." They work! Especially that last one. But one thing that I don't often hear from other authors that really helped me, was take an acting class. Or six years of them like I did.

What? you may be asking. You, the gal who learned to sneeze silently so people wouldn't look at her for a split second, who goes out of her way to blend in so people leave her alone was an actor? Yep-a-roonie. From seventh grade through senior year I was always in drama club or class. I acted in two school plays, a friend's music video, a local PSA, and was even the VP of the club. I was no Meryl Streep (though I can do a Southern, Long Island, Valley Girl, Minnesota Fargo, and English accent on cue, not that I'm bragging) (Okay, I so am), but people told me I was pretty darn good. It was just fun. I got to put on a persona and pretend I was someone other than me for awhile. When high school ended, and I moved from SoCal to NoVa, my acting career ended as well. In an official capacity anyway.

What I especially loved about acting was getting lost in being another person. Thinking new thoughts, safely experiencing danger or love without the consequences. The skills I learned on stage translated to when I was writing. When I sit down with pen and paper I have to transform into the person whose story I'm telling, feel what they're feeling at the time so I can put into words that sensation. I have to be that person as if their soul were taking over my body, using my own emotions and memories just like I did onstage. Method acting without the performing, at least sometimes. Once or twice I have been looked at sideways in the library as I was mimicking facial expressions my characters would have. In those instances I'm so lost in my own world this one and Jennifer Harlow have vanished. 

Besides the Method, Improv also helped hone my writing skills. I was never the best at it, I always felt like an idiot up there with no props or sets pretending to make a cake or whatever silly exercise my teachers had us do. But in the end me acting a fool helped me write, especially dialogue. When you're across from another actor with my script and minimal props and have to think on your feet while being someone else. You have to speak as them with no rehearsal and what you say has to be both entertaining and topical. While I'm writing I'm like a one woman improv troupe playing out all the other characters. Those sessions in class helped strengthen my wit sword so by senior year I had a witty comeback the moment the other person stopped talking. My sharp tongue is my greatest weapon, and from the letters I've received my greatest writing asset. 

So to all you aspiring writers out there, I recommend you take an acting class or two. Not only are they a barrel of monkeys but they'll help you with dialogue and characterization. Acting!        

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow signing out from the Darkside...

Song of the Week: "Feel" by Robbie Williams
I'm reading: Guts by Kristen Johnston   ****

P.S.-Once again I'm burying the lead! I just signed another three-book-deal with Midnight Ink! I've been wanting to tell y'all for months but had a very long contract negotiation. The books will be stand alone spin-offs of the FREAKS, who will make a cameo in each, and the characters in those will make cameos in each others and the FREAKS books. They're sort of friends of the FREAKS, supplemental to the originals. The first, What's A Witch to Do? will be out 3/13. Very exciting! 

29 Candles, 29 Blessings

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside...

                       
Last week's post was a bit of a downer. About twice a year I have a crisis of conscience/life where I decide that my life is total crap, I haven't accomplished enough for someone my age (husband/kids/place in my career, ugh), and I'm a huge failure. This one was brought on by hormones and my impending birthday. I got over it by the next morning. 

But today is my birthday (March 19), and I was worried I'd go all Sylvia Plath even though I've had a great week. I got an all expenses paid trip to Philadelphia to the Public Library Association's annual conference where I met some wonderful librarians (you know I love me some librarians)and other awesome people (Hello Emily!) and got to sign books, more than I expected even. (Once again I'm a pessimist. If more than one person comes over it's a win.)Then yesterday I treated myself to a resort in Virginia Beach where I sat on the beach, played on the boardwalk, took a bath in a Jacuzzi, and pigged out on room service. And tonight I'm getting sushi with my family. 

I am blessed. 

So instead of counting my deficits, I'll count my blessings on my 29th birthday. In no particular order:

1. My parents love me unconditionally 
2. My brothers and I are good friends
3. My friends: Shirley, Lydia, Diana, Melissa, Kim, and Garrett
4. I'll have sold (at least) six books to a publisher before I was 30
5. I have a roof over my head
6. I was smart enough to save my money so I can take time to write
7. My sense of humor
8. My cat Sophie
9. My dog Lucy
10. Common sense
11. I have no debt
12. I've never been seriously ill 
13. I'm compassionate
14. Game of Thrones is coming back in a few weeks
15. I'm creative
16. I have a car
17. I have a college education from a top rated school
18. I can read three books in a day
19. My street smarts
20. I have a supportive extended family
21. I'm relatively pretty (children don't flee from me)
22. I had a stable(ish) home life growing up
23. I have strength of mind and character
24. I've written 8 books
25. My mental health is relatively good, no major problems
26. My tenacity
27. I'm a hard worker
28. Almost all of my family is healthy and alive
29. All of you who read my books and this blog. I appreciate each and every one of you.

So I may not have a husband, children, or am on the NY Times bestseller list, but I'm doing pretty damn good. 

And I have 365 days until I'm...30. Oh, God. <dead faint> 

Until next time, this is Jennifer Harlow, signing out from the Darkside...    

Song of the Week: "That's Life" by Frank Sinatra
I'm reading: Nothing. I've been too busy.

Arrested Development

Hello, and Welcome to the Darkside…

             

I used to be an adult. As I said in a previous blog, when I was six weeks old my mother stared into my eyes and got a chill. I was staring back with such intensity she still speaks about it. She took this to mean I would be a very serious child. She was not wrong. Like the word smart, responsible is often used to describe me along with funny, and on occasion house hag is thrown in. (My brother said it. Not even he knew what he meant.) I was a very serious child. I liked to read, play with my dolls alone, I took care of my animals and bossed my brothers around when they needed it. As I grew up, my sense of responsibility also did, especially when my youngest brother Trevor was born. I was eleven, my dad was working all the time, and Mom was overwhelmed with our move to California along with three other energetic children. I took on the extra things she sometimes couldn’t do like bathe Trev or put him to bed, singing him songs and reading stories. I enjoyed it, no question, but felt that I had to. There was no one else to help Mom with all of it, and I was happy to do it. He was a good baby. (He’s a pill now but no matter. He’ll grow out of it.)

Then I entered the teenage years. Things in California were tough for my parents. Dad all but lived at work, Mom had four children, two who kept trying to kill each other (Ryan and Liam), and I was starting yet another new school. Mom needed help, so I pitched in. When I got my license I did school runs, went to the grocery store once a week, helped with homework and nagged the others since Mom was never big on discipline. People always thought Trev was my kid, even people from high school when I brought him into their places of work. (Having the boy you’re crushing on call you ma’am then tell you to get control of your child will scar you for life.) Then I also had school. I wouldn’t call myself a model student but I never turned in work late and never ditched a single class. I listened and actually helped solve a few friends and their problems. One night my parents had been going through a rough patch, and I informally enacted a marriage counseling session. Divorce diverted. Yes, I was no fun in high school or college where I went to the 22nd school in the nation (Go Wahoos!). I got a B average but had about six extra-curriculars along with writing two books. I graduated, got a job as a Federal Investigator where I had to hold a security clearance, and saved up enough money to move to California. Which was a nightmare of epic proportions. I won’t go into specifics but it involved suicidal roommates, fraud, job loss, taking care of two cats that weren’t mine, a dog, the house, the bills and my 25-yr-old best friend “child” 3,000 miles from my family while trying to hold down a job, write, and attempt to get published. But what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

 

Or it makes you realize you are tired of dealing with other people’s shit. I think I burnt out.

 

I left California and soon lost my job as well during the worst time to lose your job. I’d just signed a year lease and had no way to pay for it besides savings. Then came my 3-book deal. The advance tided me over for a bit, but with my limited skills after a year of searching for a job and nobody taking my bait, I had no choice. Yes, I had to move back in with my parents. Where I am right now. As we’re close knit, and my career was slowly taking off, but no one hiring a person who spent her days asking people if their neighbor overthrows the government by force, my parents let me move back in. I pay rent and insurance, I do my own laundry, I help out with dinners and the pets. But it still feels like I’ve made no forward progress in my life. And now all my friends are getting married, having kids (two just this week), go to an office job then have barbeques on the weekend, and I feel like these people who smoked pot between classes and partied all night are hitting all the important milestones and I’m left in my parents basement. And I know I’ve written eight books, have a six book deal with possibly more coming, and that’s a huge accomplishment I know for someone not yet thirty, and that they can’t say that, but still I feel like there’s something wrong with me. But, if I’m truthful, I always have. Since I was that overachieving teen I didn’t know if I want to get married or have kids. I like my freedom and not having to change poopy diapers and washing skiddy underwear (did that as a teen too. Yuck.)So, have I earned the right to mooch off my parents, spending my days writing, and watching Miss Marple on a Friday night instead of trying to find a life partner and father of my child? All I know is in a little over a year (my b-day is March 19) I’ll be…(gulp) thirty. I’ll have published three books, having to write two a year, I’ll have had no children, never been married, and most likely still living in my parent’s basement. Not normal, I know. But maybe normal for me.    

This is Jennifer Harlow, signing out from the Darkside…

Song of the Week: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by                       Tears For Fears

I’m reading: Midnight in Austenland by Shannon Hale   ***

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