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After the psychologically scarring death of her father, wild child Rosie Dwyer is introduced to journal keeping. She initially considers this writing form to be cliché. Before the death, Rosie valued chaos and rebellion- from “protest-peeing” in class to shoving a Twinkie in a classmate’s eye. However, once Rosie gives into this mode of writing, a cathartic obsession begins.
Her entries often focus on her childhood enemy, Logan Fields, after he becomes Rosie’s permanent peer editor in creative writing class. While Rosie loses touch with both loved ones and reality, an unlikely friendship builds between her and Logan. Together, they must try to find the meaning behind insanity- in the school theatre, in the public library, and in the middle of a false Apocalypse.
KEYWORDS: teenagers, mental illness, suicide, Bipolar Disorder, journaling
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The author will giveaway a digital copy of Hey Joey Journal during this blog tour.
August 17, 2012
That “Dear journal” shtick is overused, so I’ll address you with the word “hey.” Hey, journal. I usually write exclusively on scraps of paper. Underneath my bed is my literature’s habitat and the paragraphs are seldom about anything. Last year, I discussed career goals with my high school’s counselor. Once my writing aspirations were revealed, Counselor became giddy and asked about my writing style. She said, “I’d love to hear about it, Rosie.”
“It’s disorganized,” I said. Then she handed me this ginormous journal and I witnessed a disgusting “I’m-a-cool-adult” wink.
This is the first time I’ve cracked you open.
Time seems to have decelerated. The slowing of time is the only gift August 2012 has coughed up. There’s been a drought, among other eyesores. I’m beneath our backyard’s oak tree, its gargantuan arms stretching far, shade encompassing the entire lawn. Many leaves are dehydrated. It’s as pleasant to lie beneath as Magic Mike is to watch. Allow me to explain that analogy. The film’s previews had me expecting a rollicking rom-com...something less serious. It differed from the ads. Still, every scene featuring scantily clad men made it worth the cash. That’s what happened with this shade. I’m below it, experiencing a full body itch, but it could be worse. Due to lacking rain, the ground isn’t summer turf in the slightest. Imagine wearing a pantsuit crafted out of hay and sandpaper. The shade is nice, though. Makes me able to bear my eyes being open.
Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. I kid you not, as I placed the period after “open,” a bird landed in my eye line and inched toward me. Soon, it was atop this journal. I thought, Birds are flighty. Timid. Not this one. Its eyes were a familiar mess. I was confronted by the undeniable fact that birds were my dad’s favorite animal. I blinked, eyelids capturing wetness and holding it hostage. Moisture subsided and the bird was all kinds of nowhere.
I wonder what it would be like to sprout wings. To be gone. My pencil is begging me to release it from my monstrous grip and my legs are screaming, “Let us run far away, Rosie.”
I’ll do what I do best and let my impulses win. Run until I get scared and retreat. Run until I realize it’s not the same as flying. Run.
Colleen June Glatzel is a writer from Waukesha, WI. She writes mostly fiction, but is interested in exploring other categories now that her first book, Hey, Joey Journal, is published. When Colleen isn’t writing, she deals antiques, acts, performs improv comedy, makes collages, paints and spends time with her family.