The Opposite of Maybe

I finished reading The Opposite of Maybe in two sittings. I would have done it in one, but it was late and my eyelids wouldn't stay open any longer. Even though when I went to sleep my brain wouldn't shut off and kept rehashing everything I had just read about Rosie and her eccentric, non-exciting life - so I couldn't wait to find the free time to finish the story. Maddie Dawson writes in a way that I feel like I know the characters. Although, they are considerably older than I am, I can identify with their lifestyle, friends, jobs, relationships, family dynamics, and surprises along the way of life. I was able to picture myself as Rosie in many of the situations and there were times I was excited along with her and I couldn't turn the pages quick enough and yes, there were times I would find myself teary-eyed. 

Overall the story contains real-life problems, the thoughts we all think but do not necessarily share, and best of all it shares the complexity of relationships and how a person going down one path in their life suddenly finds it leaving a void and we are left searching. Sometimes we don't know what we are searching for and the main character in this book doesn't know what she wants until she has tried every avenue. Rosie battles her own feelings and emotions, trying to do the right thing. In the end all that matters is what makes her happy. 

The Opposite of Maybe is written well with characters are well-developed and has a well described setting. Everything about the book I really enjoyed. I gave it 4.5 stars because it left me hanging! I know that sometimes this is for the best, but I just wanted to know what happened at the very end. I am a sucker for a good romance story and this doesn't disappoint. It is tasteful, fun, and not like a book I have read before. I would recommend this to anyone looking for a quick, fun read that makes them think about themselves also. 

I received this book from the Blogging for Books program in exchange for this review.

Time to Share!

This week is the last week of my fiction workshop with Southern New Hampshire University.
I have learned so much from this class. Having to work on one short story for the past seven weeks has really been beneficial to me. I loved to read the stories the other students in my group had written and critiquing them.
I totally hate reading critiques on my work, but this workshop forced me to read them. I had to because if I wanted to pass the class I had to acknowledge their thoughts and see how to incorporate it into my story.
Guess what? I wasn't scared to read any critiques by the end of the session and I was actually looking forward to it! Which was something that I didn't expect to happen, at all.
The requirement of the short story was that it had to be loosely based off of some life event true to the author.
I am not going to lie - I had no clue what I wanted to write about. I could write about so many different things!
I just sat down one evening with my laptop while my daughter was watching Jessie and just started typing. I ended up writing about Australia.
I went there for three weeks when I was sixteen.
For me, the trip couldn't have come at a better time since my Dad and Grandma had both just passed away.
Going there, with no family or friends (I went with People to People, so I got to know the students in my delegation, of course) really helped me find myself. I mean, who knows who they are when they are sixteen and just lost two important family members? Ummm...no one?
But, for me it was a time to reflect, let go, and just be a teenager and truly enjoy life! And I completely did!
So I took that experience of feeling whole for the first time, just from experiencing life some place new and poured it into this short story.
I don't know my grade yet, hopefully it'll be posted in the next few days. I'll update when it is!
But I decided to upload both my rough draft and my final draft to just show (and remind myself) how much work changes and evolves with great critique, some editing, and lots of thought.

Missing Pieces
Rough Draft
Final Draft

To Speak or Not to Speak?

My Grandpa always claimed that he was super bashful when he was a youngin'. You wouldn't know it if you had ever been in the same room as him though. He grew into a talker. A big talker. Maybe it is best to describe him as a storyteller.
He was one of those storytellers that would start to tell you a story, say something like, "I may have told you this before..." you would agree that you have heard it, and then he would keep on with the telling of the story as though it doesn't matter if you have heard it before or not.
He obviously had a huge impact on my life. My childhood, adolescence, and adulthood all included him as an important person.
So when he passed I would lie away at night thinking about all of the wonderful things I wanted to make sure everyone that was at his service knew just how important he was to me.
I did something I never thought I would, I spoke at his service.
I am definitely not a public speaker. I get the sweats. I feel like I talk too fast, etc. add this to being crushed emotionally and I figured it would be a recipe for a speech disaster.
But, the night before his service a speech just played out in my head. I had to get up and get it out on paper and I am so glad I did.
I did start out with an ugly cry when I began, and throughout it I am sure everyone heard me snort up my snot a couple times in the microphone. My voice wavered throughout it all. However, I pulled through.
I kept looking down from where I was at the front of the church to the casket with my love, my Grandpa's body safely inside. He wasn't in pain anymore. He looked good that day. I just kept envisioning him smiling at me like he did when I gave a speech at the Optimist Club he was a member of when I came back from Australia when I was sixteen. It was that look that pulled me through.

Remembering Grandpa

Hello.
I'm Emily, in case you didn't know.
I'm the granddaughter you might have heard about a time or two.
For the past 13 years, it's been me and him.
My dad, Randy, died when I was 15 followed six months later by my grandma, Janet.
Grandpa was my parent.
When grandpa and I went home after my grandma's passing we sat down together and realized it was just the two of us. He was left to raise me - a teen girl, 61 years younger than him.
We made a promise then to never let an argument come between us and we never let that happen.
It was tough at times, but he was just the type of man you couldn't say "no" to or argue with.
While living with him, he taught me so much about life, more than he'll ever know.
He taught me that life is beautiful.
Most people are good.
How to drive a stick shift.
That 7up floats are almost as good as root beer floats.
But most importantly he taught me that a family can be of any dynamic as long as the people truly care about and love each other.
He loved me unconditionally.
Grandpa was there for everything my dad couldn't be -
High school graduation, when I earned my first college degree, even when I got my first speeding ticket (which he wasn't too happy about)...but greatest of all, I was lucky enough to have him walk me down the aisle and give me away on my wedding day.
He then stayed all afternoon when I had my daughter, Sophia. He didn't go home until almost midnight by the time she finally arrived and he got to hold her. And, he was back to see us bright and early the next morning and didn't yawn once.
Grandpa was the person I called first when I was happy or sad, we ate dinner together at least once a week for the past ten years after I graduated high school and moved out.
If I wasn't feeling well, he'd show up with a 7up and crackers for me, even if my husband was home because grandpa just knew Channa wouldn't tend to me like he could.
He was right.
I could go on and on with stories about the way he has impacted my life.
I know I won't ever be as great of a person as he was. He touched so many lives and on his mission of helping others, and he succeeded with more of an impact than we will probably ever really know.
The past few months have been very hard for me.
I am very selfish and wanted him to live forever.
I would have had him live with us until the end of time just so I knew he was safe and happy.
I told him this and his reply were his happy tears and a simple, "I know you would, honey."
The last few days of his life I would sit by his bedside for hours and talk on and on about anything and everything.
I wouldn't come home until late because I know that he would have done the same thing for me.
My daughter has lost her great-grandpa, who got to share a bond these past five years that many people aren't lucky enough to have with their grandparents.
My husband gained a grandfather he never thought he would have had.
I had not only a grandpa, but also a father, a role model, and a friend.
Today marks the longest time in half of my life that I haven't heard his voice, got to hug him, or make him some cookies.
But I am at peace knowing he is with his wife and son again and I get to carry all of his stories, his morals and values, and his sense of being within me.
He and my daughter had a ritual before bed while he stayed with us and in response to the saying...now you get to sleep tight, grandpa. And I'm sure the bed bugs won't bite.
Thank you for your time.