The Story That Wouldn't Let Go (And Neither Would My Mama)

Some of my stories have always come easy. This wasn’t one of them.

The first version (originally called Finding Home) was the last book my mom read that was mine before she passed in 2018. And if you knew my mom, you’d know she didn’t believe in unfinished business. She told me to finish the story, to “get off my big ass” and make something of it. No pressure, right?

But there’s a funny thing about grief—it doesn’t play nicely with creativity. So, I published the original manuscript and let it sit on Amazon for a few months until I made the mistake of reading it. I jerked it down and let it sit. And sit. And sit some more. Every time I opened the original book after pulling it from sales, I heard my mom’s voice in the back of my head. She was equal parts love and support and part Southern mama. “Now you know Jenny deserves better than this trash.”

She’s right… even now.

So, middle of last year after I finished the second volume of Dolly Mae’s story, I dusted this one off. I stretched my writing muscles and got to work. I deepened the story, switched the point of view, sharpened the edges, threw away a lot of the original, and gave Jenny the journey she deserved. It was one I wasn’t capable of writing years ago. And you’d be betting right knowing that somewhere in the middle of it all, I found my way back to the heart of why I wrote the story in the first place.

It's about home, love, and all the ugly, complicated emotions that come with them. It’s about facing the past instead of running from it. It’s about how grief changes people but doesn’t define them.

And, let’s be real—it’s about making sure my dear, crazy-ass mama doesn’t come back to haunt me for leaving it in such a bad state.

In the coming months, join me on social media or this blog for more information.

This one’s for you, Mom.