Agent R

There is something wrong with me. No one is up in arms over this statement, I'm sure, but now more than ever I know it to be true. After more than three years of hoping, dreaming, and working for my dream to become a reality, I'm one giant hurdle closer.

Last Monday I signed and dated a one year contract to have my memoir represented by the Pratt Literary Group. It came with a letter of congratulations. I'm on their site as an active project, along with a bio.

My name in lights, so to speak.

Then why do I feel numb?

Part of it has to do with the fact that, other than my super supportive GF, I had no one to tell. The reason my memoir is attractive to agents, and hopefully publishers, is because of the extraordinary circumstances that has lead to Christmas being just another day, and Thanksgiving a time to be grateful for the fact that there is no Thanksgiving.

It's like an atom bomb blew my family to pieces, leaving shards strewn across two states. Dad lives with grandma. My brother's back inside. And my half sister lives in NH. We haven't been in the same room together in I don't know how long.

My agent asked me what my vision was for the book. I promptly answered, "To use it as a tool. To travel around to high schools and give talks, maybe reach a student like me, and let them know that change is optional: here are your options."