Category: Memories - S. J. Henderson Books

My First Book

5/1/2016

Now, I know you're thinking my first book was maybe DANIEL THE DRAW-ER, or something sophisticated like that, but... this was my true first book. I wrote this bad boy, titled NEW KID, when I was in the sixth grade. That was the year I attended public school, as you can see from the title, which was heavily influenced by the New Kids on the Block. This was a risky move on my part because I wasn't allowed to listen to the radio and certainly wasn't allowed to drool over boy bands.

If you look close enough, you can see the peace signs my friends drew on the cover--which I immediately covered up because peace signs were against the rules, too. The back cover, which I didn't take a picture of, is littered with the name of my New Kid of Choice. Can you guess who my future rockstar husband was? :-D

I wrote the bulk of this story during school when I was supposed to be working on just about everything but writing a book. And then my friends would steal it to read when they were supposed to be doing just about anything but reading their friend's book. Good times.

The story is about a girl who moves to a new town (duh!) and becomes friends with a ghost who wears Groucho Marx glasses and a boy named Derrick. But who cares about Derrick. We're talking about a ghoul with fantastic fashion sense! They all communicate with a device called a trigaphone, which is pretty much a triangle walkie-talkie. I pretty much invented the modern cell phone, if you think about it... but whatever.

While this original story is pretty horrible, I've taken ideas from it and inserted them in some of my more recent books (Derrick became Derek, the gross jock in my upcoming YA paranormal; the orchard scene also ended up in the same book. The main character, Maggie, became a character in my YA contemporary romance). That's the fun part of being a writer--being able to write about whatever you want and mish-mash things together without most people recognizing it.

Someday I will type this story out or figure out a cool way to preserve it (the folder is getting a little weathered, if you couldn't tell from the picture), but it's fun to take it to school visits. The kids really relate to the idea of the notebook pages in the folder, and the teachers all really relate to the NKOTB adoration.

So, there you have it. My very first book.

Today's Field Trip

12/1/2014

Pssssst!

Today I'm visiting over at Sharon Ledwith's blog, talking about all kinds of weird and funny stuff, as usual. Head on over there and say hi, and enter my giveaway for an ebook or audiobook version of DANIEL THE DRAW-ER.

Time Warp With S. J. Henderson

9/10/2014

My friends still call me "Swirly" because of this outfit. It's awesome, right?

We had such a blast with Krysten Lindsay Hager's Middle School Time Warp (and her gorgeous orange-ish Sun-In hair) the other day, that we decided to keep it going. Today I'm on Krysten's blog, sharing some of my best and worst school memories... and some pretty horrendous photos. Stop by her blog and cringe along with me!

Then share with us in the comments (here, or on Krysten's blog) some of your funniest and humiliating stories!

Middle School Time Warp With Krysten Lindsay Hager

9/8/2014

In honor of kids everywhere returning to the hallowed halls of learning, or whatever, I've invited my homegirl Krysten Lindsay Hager over to play a game of Truth or Dare. Well, mostly it's a game of Truth, as she's taking us back to her middle school days with her rad answers.

If you haven't met Krysten before, she's the totally tubular author of TRUE COLORS. TRUE COLORS is about middle-schooler Landry and her group of friends, and the totally outrageous things that happen when Landry ends up on a modeling reality t.v. show. Let's just say, it's not pretty! Middle-schoolers and middle-schoolers at heart will relate to (and cringe along with) Landry and her frenemies.

You can find TRUE COLORS on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, and just about anywhere digital books are sold.

You should totally buy this book. Everyone's doing it, it's no big deal.

Now, for a little Truth or Dare...

Always on time or always late? Oh, I can’t lie. Late. I could have used a Harry Potter invisibility cloak to slip into class unnoticed. In my book, my character Landry always just slips in the door after the bell and that was totally me.

Teacher’s pet, worst nightmare, or fly beneath the radar? Tried to fly under the radar. I can’t say I was a nightmare or anything, but really tried to stay out of the line of vision.

Buy lunch or bring lunch? Bought my lunch. I don’t know if anyone else remembers this from my school, but the cookies always tasted like they weren’t really baked. They ruined chocolate chip cookies for me for years and I never cared for cookie dough ice cream because I didn’t get the appeal of cookie dough. I am pleased to report I never got salmonella and died from those.

Be honest--grafitti on the desk, on the notebook, or both? (Bonus points if also on the bathroom stall door. Bonus points if you don’t tell anyone I’m giving you bonus points for defacing school property.) I went to a strict private school and they would have removed my hands for defacing school property. I did write all over my Trapper Keeper (Mrs. Jon Knight, Mrs. Troy Aikman, Mrs. George Michael.) But in high school, I wrote all on my desk during a math test. We were supposed to do math in our heads, but that just wasn’t going to happen.

Favorite Spirit Week dress-up day? The school colors were blue and gold and the uniform colors were navy and white—I look awful in all of those colors, so really that did nothing for my school spirit. It might have even broken it a little. Landry says she looks like a dead goldfish in her school uniform colors and I second that for myself.

High school mascot? It was a bobcat. In middle school it was a panther. I think a panther could take a bobcat in a fight.

Most embarrassing school memory? I once walked into school with a Velcro roller still stuck in my hair. Not my finest hour.

Worst class ever? Anything with math.

Did you play any sports? If yes, what? Does shopping count? What about lip gloss applying?

Favorite after-school activity? (Bonus points if it involves “After School Special” and you can remember the specific name.) I took dance classes. There may or may not be a video somewhere of me in a and Minnie Mouse costume dancing to “Hey Mickey,” when I was twelve. I was tall and let’s just say I looked older than twelve and the costume looks positively obscene on me. I never thought anyone would see it, but one of the girls in the number went on to be a Rockette or something and they ran that performance of all things on the news because of her. I thought no one would recognize me with my mouse ears, but I got phone calls. I still cringe over that one.

Tell us about your first middle-school boyfriend. (Bonus points if he pegged his pants or had a rat tail.) I think I can accept those bonus points for the pants. He was at least a foot shorter than me and he went to a different school so I felt so cosmopolitan.

Favorite band? The Bangles were my fave in sixth grade and their Everything cover inspired the characters: Landry, Peyton, Devon, and India.

Compare your middle-school hairstyle to an animal. Be creative. (For example, if you sported a mohawk, you could say “skunk” or “porcupine” or something else mohawk-y because that’s all my brain is coming up with right now. Bonus points for a photo of said hairdo.) Probably skunky because there was an unfortunate moment with Sun-In in the 7th grade. However, if you keep up with the Sun-In and the excessive blow drying it will turn dark brown hair from orange to gold to a sickly wheat color.

Krysten then. I love the Glamour Shots pose.

Celebrity crush? Oh wow, how much time do you have? I liked George Michael for years, Jon Knight, Troy Aikman, Grant Hill, Jalen Rose…those are the ones I remember and am willing to own up to.

Fashion must-have? In middle school we were limited to what we could wear, so bracelets were my go-to for my school uniform (particularly friendship bracelets and bangles), but in high school I was obsessed with Versace jeans. In middle school I owned that Esprit purse that every single girl in my zip code had. I think at one point is was illegal not to own it. I didn’t even like it because I thought it was boring and I wrote a short story about that stupid bag.

About Krysten

Krysten now, no Sun-In

Krysten Lindsay Hager is an author and book addict. She is originally from Michigan and has lived in South Dakota, Portugal, and currently resides in Southern Ohio where you can find her reading and writing when she’s not catching up on her favorite shows (like Hart of Dixie, The Goldbergs, Dallas, and Devious Maids.) She’s worked as a journalist and humor writer, and also writes middle grade, YA, and adult fiction. You can find her work in the Patchwork Path anthologies: Friendship Star, and also Grandma's Choice and in several of the Country Comfort Cookbooks as well as many humor essays and news articles. Her debut novel, TRUE COLORS, was released by Astraea Press this summer. You can see what she’s reading and reviewing at the Book Foodies blog

Connect With Krysten

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And don't forget to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway to win a copy of Mindy Mymudes' GEORGE KNOWS or my DANIEL THE DRAW-ER! Only a few more days to share and enter!

Names Changed To Protect the Innocent, Part 1

8/22/2014

Each week, I've committed to networking my readers with other authors who are also building their readership. As far as I'm concerned, that's a win-win. They get to tell a new set of people about their stories, and maybe you find your next favorite book (after mine, butofcourse! Wink, wink).

At least one day per week, I'll take a break from promoting my wonderful author cronies to share a little bit about me, what I'm working on, and all kinds of other good bookish stuff. I thought I'd kick this weekly segment off by addressing a FWQ--a frequently-wondered question. I think the term "FAQ" is so overdone, don't you? So, FWQ it is.

"Where did you come up with the idea for that character?"

Well, dear reader, that's a wonderful question, and not one I always have a brilliant answer for. When I was writing my Children's/Middle Grade book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER, so many of the ideas for the silliest of creatures came from the cobwebby recesses of my brain, with no real idea how they got there in the first place. A few of the characters--the best characters, really--were based on people and animals I know and love. It makes me so happy to know that you know and love them, too, and you appreciate all of their unique quirks.

Instead of pouring out every one of my secrets at once, I will break them up into separate blog posts, to be doled out like bread crumbs in coming weeks. And, in the spirit of building up momentum, I'd like to start things off slow and low-key.

Our first victim... ahem, I mean, subject will be Tommy, the guy you all love to loathe.

Tommy

Tommy is the loser boyfriend of Daniel's older sister, Lila. Tommy's claim to fame is his shabby, poorly-designed facial hair, gross aroma, and his enthusiasm for arm punching poor Daniel. This guy's also not real great with important info, such as names. In short, he's a little bit of the worst.

We're asking ourselves that, too.

It was brought to my attention recently that one of my brothers-in-law read Tommy's description in my book and thought he might be the inspiration for such a lovely, wholesome character. If he identifies with Tommy, then shame on him.

Or at least our relationship. Sniff sniff!

Just kidding. Maybe.

Tommy is based on a combination of bad boyfriends my sisters went through. Most of those guys were short-lived, cute but empty-headed, with not enough interest in a bratty little sister to take the time to say hello, or even learn my name (not even a "Fritz"!).

Like I told you before, it's Fritz, not Buddy.

His signature arm punch was actually drawn from a particularly traumatic experience I had. No, none of those guys punched me, although I'm sure a few of them wanted to. One guy who looked at least four years too old for my sister, with the gross mustache not helping his cause, came over to our house to hang out. I remember him pinning me under a bean bag chair (yeah, we were a bean bag family), and tickling me until I peed my pants. Adults always warn about that kind of stuff happening--"Stop! Or she'll pee her pants!"--but you don't think it'll ever happen to you until it happens. And then you're eternally mortified, and you have to get back at all of the skeezy sister's boyfriends in the world by immortalizing their misdeeds in print. Forever. Then you make it all worse by telling the world that somebody tickled you past the point of no return... Okay, I'm going to stop now.

Nevermind.

The Tommies from my past usually weren't rockstar wannabes, but most of them considered themselves to be cooler than they actually were. I think we all think that about ourselves, some of us are just better than Tommy (and my sisters' exes) at keeping it on the down-low.

I hope you enjoyed taking a deeper look into the story behind one of my characters. Make sure you check back next week for another installment of "Names Changed To Protect the Innocent".

If you're on Pinterest, please join me over there and let me know what you think of when you read my stories. I always love to see how readers visualize my characters! You're usually far more creative than I am!

Until then, keep dreaming...

Good Book Day

6/1/2014

A local fourth-grade teacher read Daniel the Draw-er to her class recently, and invited me in to talk with her kids. I had no idea what I was doing going into this thing, but my friend Courtney helped me make bookmarks and I ordered extra copies of my book. Just. In. Case.

Last night I went to Kohl's to pick out a new shirt to wear. It took me an hour. How come the size I need in the shirt I like is always gone? Like, always. So annoying. And then I wake up and my friend texts me to ask if I want to wear my pajamas into the elementary school for my talk because it's pajama day at the school.

Well, okay. I'll wear the cat pants... If you insist.

So I squeeze myself into my cat pants. The picture isn't so great, but they are basically the best pants ever. What's not to love about space cats? On your legs!! The lady in the office pauses a few seconds before deciding we probably aren't as shady as we appear in my cat pants and Courtney's owl jammies. Muahahahaha! My plan, she works!

While the teacher brings the kids back to the classroom, we admire the projects on the classroom walls. "Who is your favorite character in DANIEL THE DRAW-ER? And why?" and " What would you draw if you had a magic pencil?" Courtney's especially happy with these projects because one kid gave Octobear purple tentacles (which is totally crazy, because everyone knows they're green!). I just think it's awesome because the kids had projects. About MY book.

I begin by telling the kids that I had, once upon a time, been a student in their elementary school; and when I wrote the playground scene from the book, I'd pictured their playground. None of the play structures from my era remain on their current playground. That's a little sad, but the kids think it's cool that their playground is famous. And, of course, I tell them about the earthquake that cracked the sidewalk behind the school. I forget to tell them about the petrified green been that's been clinging to the cafeteria ceiling for the past forty years, though. Next time...

The teacher asks me about my writing process. I'll have to work on my answer for next time, because I don't think mine is currently all that great. She uses my answer to emphasize the importance of revising and having friends look over your work. Then she lets the kids ask questions.

How did you come up with Whiskers?
Was Annie based on someone?
How do you make your characters sound different?
How do you think up these characters?
When did you publish your book?

And, most importantly, will there be another book?

Yes, there will be another book. <cheers>. And when I hint about what Daniel's up to next, their hands shoot up with all of their ideas. So many ideas, and several of them fall very close to what I have in mind. That's pretty impressive.

Then the kids--nearly 2/3 of the class--buy their books and I sign them. Heck, Courtney even signs a few because the kids know she must be awesome, too (Duh! Owl jammies!). Each of the kids receive a cool autographed bookmark because I wanted them to have something, even if they couldn't get a book.

You know you want one.

After that, the kids start bringing me random things to sign. I sign crumpled scraps of paper, a notebook cover, a pencil case, and I'm pretty sure a contract of some kind, but I'm not 100% on that last one. A few kids ask me to write notes to their siblings. One wants me to draw Octobear; another, Whiskers. That's a newbie mistake because then ALLLLLLL of the kids want me to draw something, and there just isn't enough time. I would've done it if there had been time.

Before the kids run off to lunch, one boy drops a note in front of me. On his note, he thanks me for coming, then there's a sketch of the pencil from my book cover. I flip the paper over (as instructed), and he's given me his phone number so I can call him when book #2 is finished.

"Look! I scored some digits!" I shout to Courtney and the teacher. That's so awesome.

One of the girls tells me she's going to frame my autograph. "You're her favorite author," the teacher says. Another boy agrees. I'm someone's favorite author? Someone who doesn't know me? Really? Is that possible?

I ask the teacher if I can donate a copy of "Daniel the Draw-er" to the school library, and she says sure, and she'll introduce me to the school librarian. On the way to the library (and then the office, because the librarian isn't in the library), we pass a neatly-dressed woman exiting the school through the main doors. I mean, this chick's in a dress, pearls, and heels--the whole nine. She obviously didn't get the pajama memo.

The teacher whispers, "that's the head of the township children's library. Want me to introduce you?"

Uh, yeah. I wanna meet ALLLLLL the book people.

The poor prim and proper librarian looks confused by the lady in the totally awesome cat pants (me) handing her an unknown but equally awesome book. It makes me smile just remembering it. Oh, cat pants. Making friends and influencing people, as always.

So, I'm going to go ahead and call that a huge success.

In other news, today I decided to celebrate my first author event by offering the Kindle version of "Daniel the Draw-er" for free for one day only. So far, 544 people have downloaded it.

Resulting in this.

While I wish that meant royalties for me (on 544 copies! Sweet), what it really means is more exposure for this fun story... maybe a few reviews. But, really, the sharing is all I'm hoping for. The more people who read Daniel's story, the more chances I have to make someone smile or prove that someone else can do what I've done.

My sixth-grade self wouldn't have believed that one day I'd walk into my old elementary school wearing cat pants with my published book tucked under my arm.

Third Time's a Charm

12/4/2013

On July 22, 2011 I met Claire Darling for the very first time. At the time, Claire was an 18-year-old high school student by morning, horse trainer by every spare hour after that. She quickly became a friend of mine because she's sarcastic and self-deprecating, a good soul. Two-and-a-half years and three books later, she and I are pretty tight. I've fought for her to fall in love and I cried with her (over and over) when her heart was shattered into pieces. She's struggled and she's endured. She's no Super Woman, but that's why she's real. Well, real is a relative term, but you know what I mean.

Over the past couple of years, I've come to adore good guys Liam and Graham. I've loved to hate all those shady characters--Rayna, Rowan, and Maureen. Maybe you've found the strings of your emotions tugged by one or more of them, too. If that's true for you, then I thank you for investing yourself in my humble words.

There's so much I want to say, but so much I can't because I don't want to give anything away. That, and I'm so overwhelmed by the day that I don't know where to begin and where to end.

Maybe Liam says it best in the last paragraph I wrote today that brought the third and final novel to a close:

"With any luck, tomorrow his big heart will eclipse anything he lacks. At least, this is what I pray as I stare out at the stars strung in the deep blue. I want him to find his own place to belong, because I’ve found that place for myself, a home, and I’m homesick."

Like Liam, I've found a home in Hope Creek and I'm already homesick.

Thanks, guys, for everything you've given me. You'll never know what you've done for me.

Right Away, Great Captain!

11/13/2013

I'm guilty of turning on an album and leaving it on repeat for days. Months, even. My husband hates this about me because he and I tend to have very opposite tastes in music (him: Anything Country. Me: Florence + the Machine, which is totally a genre, by the way!). Though it's not working at the moment, we had an iPod jack in our room where we could plug in our iPods or phones and play our music over speakers in the ceiling or on the porch.

At some point while Moe was sick, I turned on Right Away, Great Captain and left it on. I remember walking away from his still-warm but lifeless body on the grass and wandering back to the house wondering what could possibly be left without him. The only thing to do was crawl into bed in the middle of a sunny day and cry. Right Away, Great Captain crooned me to sleep on that horrible, beautiful day. I let it play on in the days to follow because it held Moe and I together, this thread of mournful music.

Tonight I'm getting ready to say good-bye to one of my characters and I don't want to because it's like letting my boy slip through my fingers again. My heart hurts and it feels right to play Right Away, Great Captain! again to pull myself back into the grief.

It's no more than two lines into the first song before I can see him stumbling and feel his slick neck against my cheek. The curl of dread tightens in my belly as I watch the vet check his pupils and slowed breathing over and over and over until he is satisfied and I know it's done. I'm broken, with pieces that will never go back together quite right.

Sixteen months and it surprises me how sharp the pain still is and how little it takes to bring me back to that good-bye. That is the power and wonder of art.

Oh. How will I ever do this?

I Don't Want To Fight

10/27/2013

The young couple doesn't see it coming, their convertible top down and wrapped up in the warmth of the day. My family and I see it, though.

We're waiting in a line of cars at a stoplight when half a dozen guys pile out of a car ahead of us, and it's clear they're up to no good. Some of the men have wrapped their knuckles with thick chains, and others clutch empty beer bottles by their necks. They're stalking towards the cute couple who haven't noticed them yet, and my stomach twists with realization.

My son-in-law, Bert, jumps out of the car before we can stop him. My daughter claws at his shirt and tries to scream some sense in to his brain, but it's no use. Bert's always had a strong sense of justice. Either that or he doesn't put much value on his own life.

The light changes and the convertible speeds off before the thugs reach them, but their group is still looking for a target and they set their sights on the most likely target: Bert. It happens in slow motion, but it still happens. One of the guys smashes his bottle over Bert's head and blood trickles in his face.

I don't want to fight. There's three times as many of them as there are of us. I'm not much of a gambler, but those odds aren't good, even with a firecracker like Bert on your side. Like it or not, though, I can't leave him out there alone. They'll kill him. With a backward glance at my wife, daughter, and young son, I bolt from the car and into the battle. I still don't want to fight.

Two-to-one. If we survive this, I might kill Bert myself.

I don't see the guy until he's clocked me in the side of the head and I'm sprawled on the ground. He brings the pointed toes of his boots to my face and kicks me over and over, sending spikes of pain through my jaw and behind my eyelids. It's not enough to him that I am on the ground, that I didn't want this fight. It's obvious that he won't stop until he's made his point clear. As far as I'm concerned, the point of his shoe has done quite enough talking.

Elise flies from the car and launches herself on the back of my attacker. On her way out of the car, she grabbed the closest thing in reach, a can of oil, which she now uses to hammer away at his thick skull. She stuns him long enough to give me a chance to stagger to my feet, but I can't stop him from wrenching her free and kicking her in the face with those horrible, awful boots.

I didn't want to fight.

We drive ourselves, licking our wounds, to General Hospital. Bert needs stitches, and I'm not sure what Elise and I need. A uniformed officer comes to arrest us for beating up a group of men, but his mouth and the charges drop when he surveys our assortment of injuries.

A couple days later our friend Benny takes in Elise's cuts and bruises and asks us to name names. "You'll never hear from those guys again," he vows. I don't doubt Benny one bit, and I appreciate the gesture, but I don't tell him anything.

Our bruises haven't healed up before one of the smaller thugs struts into the store. He's alone and looking for another fight. The tips of Bert's ears flame as he orders him off the property. I keep an eye on the man as he slinks away toward the restaurant next door. A wave of rage courses through me and I think how easy it would be to get my revenge on just one man, the runt of the bunch. With a shake of my head, I turn away from the window where I have a clear view of him glaring over at us.

I don't want to fight.

Rear View Mirror

10/27/2013

I expect him to pass her by.

He doesn't, and I should have seen it comin'. My older brother, Joe, never missed an opportunity to tease me. Then again, he didn't pass up a chance to flirt with a pretty girl, either.

"Cut it out, Joe!" I growl through gritted teeth. Heat creeps up from my neck to my cheeks, and the sprinkling of freckles there fade into red. There's only so far I can shimmy down in the Model A's bench seat to hide myself from her sight. I'd like very much to slug my brother for his fooling.

"Hey, Toots!" He calls out the open window to the dark-haired girl walking behind our car. "Want a ride?"

She doesn't even give him the satisfaction of looking our direction, which, in a way, makes his grin broaden. Instead, she trains her deep brown eyes on the gravel immediately before her own two feet. We all know that even if she wanted to ride with a troublemaker like my brother or mortified me, she'd have to pass it by her daddy. Besides, she's nearly reached her destination and doesn't need our kind of help, if you could call it that.

I steal a peek in the mirror and watch her curls bob in time with her determined march. If I wasn't so mad at Joe, I'd thank him for giving me more time with her. Not that we ever really spent time together. My brothers and I watched her walk past our house on her way to her job at the golf course all the time. They watched, maybe, but I salivated. Someday I'd work up the nerve to ask her on a proper date, but today wasn't going to be that day, thanks to my obnoxious brother.