Category Archives: Uncategorized

Upcoming Events!

April 29, 2016

After two years, four rewrites, and a whole lifetime of dreaming–my book release is finally here! My dad and I have a full week’s worth of joint book signings coming up and we would so love to see you. (If for some reason you show up at a signing and I’m not there, please look under the table. I’m probably reading Goosebumps books like I used to at my dad’s signings. Old habits die hard.)

Screen Shot 2016-04-28 at 3.57.34 PM

**TUESDAY, MAY 3 –  FACEBOOK EVENT, 1-3 PM MST. Impending labor complicated my plans for a book tour, so I’m thrilled to be hosting a virtual event for all you out-of-staters! Prizes, sneak peeks, and all manner of shenanigans. Get information HERE.

SIGNING DETAILS: I will be signing LOVE & GELATO, and my dad will be signing the newly released paperback edition of MICHAEL VEY 5: STORM OF LIGHTNING. So come say hello, get a free MV6 poster, and do your best not to laugh at my attempts to wear high heels at 35 weeks pregnant. (I’ve been looking forward to this day since I was about 7 years old, so YES, I WILL BE WEARING HEELS.)

**COSTCO SIGNINGS DETAILS: These signings are for LOVE & GELATO only, although my dad will be there signing MV6 posters and cheering me on. Also, you have to be a Costco member to attend. Thanks!

XO, Jenna


Two more weeks!

April 19, 2016

After two years, four rewrites, and a whole lifetime of dreaming–my book is just TWO WEEKS AWAY! I am so, so excited! Interested in pre-ordering? I will love you forever.   ——————>>Cornetta quote

Under the Coffee Shop Table

July 26, 2015

Artist in progress

My first attempt at writing a book kind of devastated me. I was sure that after all my reading and notebook scribbling and dreaming about being a writer, that I’d be able to hole up in a coffee shop somewhere for six months and produce something awesome.

That wasn’t the case.

Yes, I did hole up for six months, and yes I did produce something, but I wouldn’t go so far as to attach the word “awesome” to it. It had okay characters, an interesting setting, and as far as I could tell, some pretty decent writing, but there was only the barest hint of a plot and if I was totally honest with myself, the book was boring.


And I could have lived with all that if I’d just sort of been half a**ing it. But I hadn’t been. I had worked my very, very hardest. I’d sweated over it, I’d lost sleep, I’d dedicated every inch of spare time I had to that first book, and the results were so mediocre it made me want to crawl under the nearest table of that coffee shop and just give up forever.

It took me many years (and a giant push from my dad) to climb out from under the table and try again. I wish I could say I got it the next time around, but I didn’t. My second attempt was still pretty terrible. And so was my third. Only by that point I had a book deal (potential in attempt #1 combined with a very successful father was enough for Simon & Schuster to take a chance on me). And suddenly a lot of other people were echoing the things I was already thinking. Your book lacks plot. You need stronger characters. It need to be interesting.

In fact, for almost a year my edit letters said things like this:

  • Strong main characters are the meat and potatoes of YA Novels. Yours is coming across as flat.
  • Just like your main character, we feel X is too one-dimensional. He needs to be rethought.
  • Your conclusion to plot point X was disappointing.
  • We don’t think the conflict between X and Y works at all.

It was excruciating. After every round of edits I’d scuttle back under that coffee shop table and I’d have to drag myself back out all over again. When people asked me how the writing was going I never told them how I really felt: I might not be able to do this. I might be about to fall on my face. The stress was paralyzing.

Then one night I hit rock bottom. I had a huge deadline coming up. My last edit letter had pretty much reduced me to tapioca. Sam had been with a babysitter way more than I was comfortable with, David was trying to work full time and take over my role, and I hadn’t eaten anything that hadn’t come out of a vending machine in what felt like days. It was pretty clear that I was incapable of producing even a decent book, let alone a good one, and I couldn’t stand the stress and disappointment for one more second. Suddenly–and more than anything–I wanted to give up.

And that’s when my soul spoke to me. It didn’t say the thing I wanted most to hear, which was: Jenna, you’re totally going to pull this off. You’re going to write something incredible and you’re going to be a crazy famous author and everyone is going to love your book.

No. Instead it said, You were made for this moment. Even if you have a 99% chance of failing that 1% is worth trying for.

Friends, that’s when you know you’re in the right place.

I sat up, wiped my face, and (with shaky hands) threw the coffee shop table into the fireplace. I was still terrified, but over the next few weeks I wrote more than I ever imagined I could. It was the artistic equivalent of a dead sprint. And when I finally hit send at 5 PM on my deadline I pretty much collapsed in a heap. That was it. I’d given everything I’d had. And if I failed…well…at least now I knew I was wiling to accept that.

A few days later my agent called me. Ecstatic. I squeezed my eyes shut as she told me about her conversation with my editor. “They said you did it! They said you completely transformed your book! They said it’s great!”

And then a week later I got an edit letter that said things like:

  • You did a spectacular job of giving your main character a lovely personality and voice!! She’s funny, like really funny, and all kinds of adorable. CONGRATS!!
  • The interaction between X and Y was hilarious!!
  • We love it so much that we sent it straight to copyediting!

They’d never used exclamation marks before. And never ever multiple exclamation marks. I sobbed. I laughed. I turned up music and danced around the house with my 2-year-old. But most of all I was ecstatic because a few days later when I picked up my book I loved what I read. Like really loved it. And it was the first time I’d ever picked up a book by Jenna Evans Welch and thought, What a great read.

I’m not writing about this because I think I am an amazingly brave artist. In fact, I think I’m one of the least brave artists I know. I’m writing this because maybe you’re reading this from under a coffee shop table and you need someone to tell you IT ISN’T GOING TO BE EASY, BUT IF YOUR SOUL IS TELLING YOU TO DO SOMETHING THEN DO IT.

Here, grab my hand. I’ll pull you up. What were you doing under there anyway? You’ve got work to do.

How to Write a Novel in 47 Easy Steps

March 3, 2015

1. Learn to read. Start with things like Little House on the Prairie and about 93% of the Goosebumps series. Fall madly, deeply in love with the printed word. Substitute shampoo bottles and owners manuals when books are scarce.

2. Become a pre-teen and realize there isn’t much for you at the library. The gap between The Boxcar Children and Adult Fiction is filled with very little, and what is there feels vapid and discusses lip-gloss way too often. Denounce said literature.

3. One day when standing in the tiny young adult section at your local library announce “When I grow up I will write books for this age group!” Then head straight for the classics section. Gone With the Wind at eleven? You’ll never be hungry again.

4. Attend high school in Italy. Meet a girl who lives in a cemetery in Florence and think “Huh. That would be a cool setting for a book.” (Remember this. It will come in handy later.)

5. Enter college and pretend for two full semesters that you don’t know what you’ll major in. Tell people, “Maybe biology? Maybe psychology?” Quietly sign up for four English literature classes.

6. Take creative writing classes. Find that you’re terrible at poetry but stories come pretty easy. Try not to be too grossed out by the ubiquitous 10% of your classmates who insist on writing thinly veiled retellings of their own sexual experiences. You’d just so much rather not have that visual.

7. Graduate. (Predictably) flail.

8. Get married. When deciding whether to change your name to Jenna Lyn Welch or Jenna Evans Welch, go with the latter. It sounds more literary. Also, it means your initials will be JEW. Hilarious!

9. Tutor elementary students in reading/writing. Find out after six months of this that your boss has told the parents of your students that you are an elementary school teacher. Feel terrible that they were misled. Leave.

10. Decide to write a young adult novel. Deep breaths. The first draft will be written almost entirely on a crappy computer in the upstairs room of a local coffee shop. You’ll subsist almost entirely on the establishment’s triple chocolate cake and you’ll feel that you’re doing something grand and dangerous.

11. Realize pretty early on that writing your first book is neither grand nor dangerous. Also, you have no idea what you’re doing.

12. Keep writing anyway.

13. Print out copy of book. Give to a few friends. Get some positive and some negative feedback. Read it yourself and realize that while your character and writing are pretty good, the plot is absolute garbage.

14. Try to fix plot. No success.

15. Despair.

16. Try again.

17. Despair.

18. Shove novel in closet.

19. Start working with Author Father on his novels. Spend several years doing this. Also start writing a blog. Continue reading feverishly.

20. Author Father asks, “What about your novel? You need to get back to work on it.” (Ignore Author Father.)

21. Author Father: “You are a great writer. You have improved every single one of my novels. You ‘hear the music.’ Why aren’t you writing?” (Hem and haw.)

22.  Pretend to be okay about not writing. You tried, right? And you couldn’t do it. Your plot was total garbage. Just because you know good writing doesn’t mean you can do it.

23. Keep pretending you’re happy about not being a writer.

24. Have Child. Give him Mark Twain’s real first name.

25. Keep reading.

26. Just before the candles are blown out at Child’s first birthday, get some astounding news. Despite your hemming and hawing Author Father and his Fancy NYC Agent have gone behind your back and presented your novel to the editors of Simon & Schuster. They see real potential. They want you.

27. Have exact feeling you had when husband proposed (nausea + panic).

28. Wonder why the best moments in your life always seem to make you feel nausea + panic.

29. Say “What? They want MY BOOK? But it doesn’t have a plot.” Fancy NYC Agent assures you they do want it. And the plot can be fixed. Then she tears up and tells you that getting you this book deal has been one of the greatest joys of her career. (She may be fancy, but after being in your life for 20 years, she’s also family.)

30. Suddenly realize they aren’t making this up. A major publishing company has just offered you money to make your biggest dream come true. (nausea + panic x 8)

31. Blow out candles on Child’s birthday cake. Feel as though you’re in a dream. Decide not to tell anyone your news until book deal is finalized. Last exactly four minutes before pulling out phone and calling everyone you know.

32. Begin work on rewriting novel. You have one year.

33. Write and write and write. This includes about a thousand starts and stops, and at least eleven meltdowns. Start neglecting other responsibilities (laundry, cooking, cleaning).

34. Hire a cleaner when in a burst of cleaning energy you realize Child responds to the vacuum like it is something he is seeing for the first time.

35. Hire a babysitter for 8 hours a week when you realize naptime is not enough time to write a novel.

36. Have at least 700 conversations with your husband that begin with the words, “What if….” and ends with some new plot twist. Feel incredibly grateful that he is the only one who will ever know every ridiculous turn your book could have taken.

37. Write. Then write some more. Six months later, send in first draft to your Two Lovely Editors.

38. Wait a realllly long time. Catch up on Desperate Housewives. And the laundry.

39. Receive edit letter. Learn that your Two Lovely Editors are incredibly lovely about the way they present their feedback. Learn to understand that sentences like, “We really feel your story is engaging, and want it to be that way from the beginning,” actually mean “Your opener is boring. Try again.”

40. Try again.

41. Write. And write. Throw away half of it then start again. Continue neglecting other areas of your life. Realize how bad things have gotten when kitchen timer goes off and rather than shouting “Nutritious home cooked meal!” Child shouts “Pizza!” Hope your insane writing schedule won’t have permanent effects on his diet.

42. Gratefully allow husband to take over more than his fair share. Spend every second you’re not caring for Child, writing. Completely stop posting to your blog, because WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT? Your hair hasn’t even been washed.

43. Write at full speed right up until 5 PM on your deadline. Turn in novel again. Time this just before Valentines Day as a gift to your husband. He cares about you (and your book) but could really use a break from hanging out with someone who is spending most of her time with people she made up.

44. Wait. Breathe several sighs of relief. Do the laundry. (Has it been done in six months? No one seems to remember.) Marvel at how easy life can feel when you’re only existing in one world.

45. Hear back from editors. Time to edit. And edit. And edit. Throw out some scenes you think are perfectly lovely but no fourteen-year-old in her right mind will every care about. Make some more big changes. Make a bunch of small changes. Wonder if your book will ever really feel really done. But then one day, somehow, it is.

46. Attach your novel into body of email addressed to Two Lovely Editors and pause for just a moment. That little attachment is your work. Your dream. It represents your very, very best try. Once you press send there will be readers and critics and Amazon reviews and people who hate it—and that’s just if you’re lucky. It’s like standing with your toes over the edge of a cliff.

47. Press send anyway.

P.S. Love and Gelato will be out in March/April 2016.

Christ as an Infant

December 25, 2013

I have spent the entire Christmas season wondering what Christ was like as an infant.

Was He a good eater? How old was He when he slept through the night? Was He calm? Active? Did He laugh easily? Did Mary chase Him around the house all day trying to keep Him from slamming His fingers in drawers and drinking from the dog’s water bowl?

Having an infant has made the divine birth feel so real to me. The images we see of the Nativity scene are so serene and beautiful, but I wonder if they mask the truth of how physical birth is. Of how tired Mary must have been, and how worried Joseph was that he couldn’t find a more suitable place for his new son. I believe that Christ went through mortality in a very real sense–along with experiencing the sins and pains of the world, He also went through teething, scraped knees, and hurt feelings. That He was comforted by a mother who didn’t always know the right thing to do, and a father who did his best.

I’ve also wondered how much Mary understood. Did she know that the infant she held had created the world? Did she know He would grow up to be loved and hated, and eventually killed? I like to think she didn’t know everything, that she held her infant and only knew some of the simple truths of mothers everywhere: that she loved her baby. That she’d do anything for Him. That He was divine and precious and a gift.

I am grateful for the new perspective and gift of motherhood, and in particular for an understanding of Christ that brings so much joy and peace into my life. Merry Christmas! I hope you spent it feeling the love of those around you.


Yesterday I Gave My Old Bike Away

September 24, 2012

Yesterday I gave my old bike away.

I wheeled it out of the garage and took a long look at its  cushy black seat and banana handlebars. I ran a hand over its shiny basket.

It was dusty, and a tire was flat.

There were some scrapes on its pink body, and the rims of the tires were cracking.

It was the bike I rode the year I lived in Arizona.

That was the year I learned to be me.

That year I rode it miles and miles between home and campus. I rode it to yoga school. I rode it to eat pita bread and feta at my favorite restaurant. I rode it when I didn’t know a soul but was hoping to change that.

I rode it to classes on Shakespeare and short stories and Paradise Lost.

I rode it to new friends’ houses, and parties, and my boyfriend’s house.

On Halloween I rode it wearing a pointy hat and red-and-white striped stockings. (I was humming the Wicked Witch’s theme.)

I rode it during rain storms and the hottest summer you’ve ever seen.

I rode it past palm trees and road construction.

I rode it while I learned to make a community of people from a group of strangers.

I rode it while I learned to be independent. How to take deep breaths when I needed them. How to take care of myself when I was alone.

Once I rode it while crying. Several times I rode it while laughing.

I rode it while figuring out that how a man looks on paper  has nothing to do with what kind of person he is. That a long list list of credentials has no sway on whether or not he’s going to love you.

I rode it while I figured out (joyfully) that the one I’d loved all along really was the right one for me.

And then I graduated. And I packed up my things and tied my tired pink bike to the top of my car and drove home to the snow, and hills, and David. And it has sat for 6 years.

David bought me a new bike for our neighborhood. It is smooth and fast and dreamy as an orange soda in August. It has gears and strong tires. I ride it very fast and smile every time I do. And even though my pink bike has sat alone, I just couldn’t let it go.

Yesterday I learned my neighbor needed a bike. And I knew it was time to say goodbye.

Yesterday I gave my old bike away.

And as she wheeled away that year of history and growth and tears

(can you blame me?)

I cried.

Charles the Home Ec Baby

January 25, 2012

Remember the school assignment where your home ec teacher made you dress up a 5-pound bag of flour or sugar and carry it around like it was your little darling? The point of this exercise was to terrify you out of teenage sex.

Even at 13 years old I knew that having a child would be nothing like schlepping around a wheat product dressed in a onesy. For heaven’s sake, our sugar babies didn’t even cry. Someone must have had a similar thought, because I recently had a run-in with a rather high-tech sugar baby.

Before I tell you about Charles, the Home Ec Baby, let me give you a run down of mine and David’s 3-tiered plan for becoming parents:

Step 1: Acquire a plant and keep it alive for 3+ months.

This step took quite a bit of trial and error. Who knew a basil plant couldn’t be expected to thrive with no water while we vacationed in Europe? It’s not like common sense has anything to do with plant parenting.

Step 2: Acquire a pet and keep it alive.

Success. He is a fearsome 13 lbs, and grumbles at the slightest provocation. Yesterday I found 16 assorted squeaky and/or chewy toys in David’s office. He is also the worst jump-up-on-you kind of dog imaginable. Sorry house guests.

Step 3: Baby.


 Step 3: BABY.


Oh yeah. I guess its getting to be that time. We’re in our first house. A beautiful one. And as the song goes: First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a house!

Or at least that’s how our song is going.

So the day we moved into our house I enlisted my little sister Jo to babysit The Grumbler, as he and his jumping were not going to be an asset to our move. Jo ended up watching his high-maintenance little booty for hours. So I couldn’t say no when she called and asked if I would babysit Little Baby Charles for a few hours.

You see, it was Jo’s week in her Home Economics class to have a weekend with the “Baby Think It Over infant simulator.” Sounds cute, right?

It isn’t.

Baby Think It Over is basically a computerized baby doll that is programmed to cry, eat, and make a general nuisance of itself.

Every weekend Baby Think It Over gets a new name and a new parent. The junior high parents are supposed to care for Baby Think It Over as though it were real. Its head has to be supported, it has to be fed, and it wakes up in the middle of the night. Oh, if Baby Think It Over could talk.

My mom and Jo met me for a morally questionable baby hand-off in a parking lot. Baby Charles and his stuff was passed through the window, and just like that I became a parent.

For the first hour nothing happened, and David and I continued unpacking the house. Then I heard some snuffling from the next room. My computerized baby motherly instincts kicked in, and I raced to Charles’ aid.

First I waved my special parent key on Charles’ back so he would know I was there. Then I tried changing his special magnetized diaper. He kept crying. I tried rocking him. He cried harder. Finally I grabbed his bottle and smashed it up against his painted mouth. He cooed. And then I had to feed him for 20 minutes until he finally quieted down.

It was still funny at this point.

But a few minutes later he started snuffling again. I tried the bottle. No go. I tried the diaper. Nothing. I rocked him. His whimpers lessened. I rocked him for 13 minutes.

It was now less funny.

I was tired. I’d been moving all day. And I had an extremely needy doll.

When it was time for dinner we drove to a 50’s style drive-in restaurant so as to avoid stares. Halfway there I realized I had’t buckled in Baby Charles’ carrier. I wondered how many drivers had seen our moderately lifelike baby shifting around the back seat.


But my pity for the baby was short lived. Because Little Baby Charles cried in the car. Little Baby Charles cried as I tried to order dinner. Little Baby Charles cried as I desperately texted Jo. Little Baby Charles cried until David swore at it.

Finally, Jo and my mom came to pick him up. I was sitting in the middle of our new living room with boxes and assorted Little Baby Charles stuff all around me. I was frazzled. I was exhausted. I may have just grown my first gray hair. The baby had cried about every 15 minutes. Jo told us that he had cried only a handful of times for her the whole weekend.

That’s when I had to tell my mom that the grandchild project had officially been delayed due to the bad influence Little Baby Charles.

I’m not sure if we were the intended target, but Baby Think It Over had a profound impact on this couple.

At least Jo got an A.


Changes Are Coming…

October 10, 2011

Hi there.

It’s been awhile. But I have a good reason–its called How My Brain Works, and this is how it shakes out. Ideas generally come to me slow. I get a little spark and then mull it over like wine or something. Okay, I don’t know anything about wine.

But anyway.

I really love writing. And I really love blogging. And I really love hearing from all of you. It’s been amazing to walk into places and meet people who have ACTUALLY READ MY BLOG. People I don’t even know. In fact, I connected with a lovely lady in Missouri last weekend who told me she could told relate to the Kitchen Sink Grope, and it tickled me pink.

But its time for the blog to evolve. Big time.

A few months ago a VERY nice artist contacted me and asked if he could put together some artwork for The Green Lemon. His comment he left was actually:

My wife and I just started reading your blog. Love the subjects you address and the writing style. Looking forward to more. Anytime you feel like you need anything a little more custom than Microsoft Clip Image 427772 to adorn your post let me know. I’d love to pair some of my illustration with your writing. See a wide range of samples on And no, this isn’t spam, I’m not selling anything. I’m sure that if you find the idea the least bit strange, I’ll be reading about it in a future post.

This made me laugh.

So then I went on his blog and really liked what I saw. And he started sending me stuff. And I liked it even more. Long story short, I have a really really wonderful new blog design in the works. My spectacular husband has been clacking away on his nerd box all weekend putting it together and I am really really excited. Here is a little preview…

Can you stand it??

I also realized something else: My daily life is not really echoed in this blog. And while I know I simply won’t be able to refrain from wordy orations on the magic of pulp fiction covers, praying in tanning beds, and my childhood goldfish, I am going to try to bring my focus in a little. This is the stuff I really really love and will be writing a lot about:

  • Books
  • Cooking
  • Fitness
  • Marriage

And people, its time for me to write more. A lot more. Like daily. I’m not promising anything, but things are about to get crazy up in here. (Yes, that was meant to be gangster.) Particularly because I start a rather intense fitness challenge on Saturday. And I have plans to make 20 gourmet meals in 30 days. I know. These things don’t seem to go together. Or maybe they do.

But the real reason for this post is I wanted to say the following:

THANK YOU so much  for reading my blog. If I knew where you lived I would send you some balloons. And maybe show up in a gorilla costume to sing you the last line of my 137th favorite song:

“Yes, I can tell that we are gonna be friends…”

I won’t be offended if you don’t immediately send me your address.


What I Don’t Get About Snow Cones

July 26, 2011

There are going to be a lot of haters here, but I must confess a deep ambivalence.

As early as May cleverly shaped snow cone shacks (also called “shax” or “huts”) start their migration to grocery and video store parking lots. And that part makes me happy because that means SUMMER and there’s nothing I love more. But with them come the teeny-boppers. Lots of them. They are in tiny shorts texting on their tiny phones and flirting with their tiny boyfriends (who make me feel very old because when I look at them I think LITTLE BOYS and when they see me in grocery stores they call me “ma’am”–what is this, the Old West?). But most importantly they are eating snow cones. So many of them, in fact, that if all these snow shack owners had just found their main ingredients in our mountains we wouldn’t have problems with all that snow pack melting and flooding the valley.

And here’s what I don’t get about all this: why the hype over snow cones? They are crunched up ice with sugary corn syrup and Blue 7 and Red 2 poured all over them. They freeze my teeth and one of their flavors is “Tiger’s Blood.” And they always, always drip out of their tiny cone shape down my arm and onto my new favorite tee shirt.

And that is what I don’t get about snow cones.

New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday & Friday!

February 18, 2011

Hi friends,

I am having such a blast with this blog and am SO excited to hear that there are actually people out there reading it! Thanks to all of you who read, comment and link to me. My blog has had several hundred views now and I’m hoping to keep growing!

In an effort to get things a little more consistent I have decided to publish new posts ever Monday, Wednesday and Friday, so be sure to check in on those days. Upcoming topics are:

Bad Romance Novels, and Why I Aspire to Write One
Baby Shower Games: Good Fun or Hazing?
3 Delicious Egg Breakfasts
Low G.I. Jane: Tales from the Blood Sugar Battlefield
BOOBS: A memoir in vignettes
How to Train for your First 5K (learn from my mistakes)
How to Take the Best Bath of Your Life (complete with bath salts recipe)
How to Tell if The Child You Are Nannying Hates You
The Best Sugar Cookies in the World
Infomercials: Items I Don’t Know How I’m Living Without
Classic Novels You May Actually Enjoy
How to Not Disclose You Are a Facebook Stalker

See you soon…

Welcome to The Green Lemon

November 26, 2010

The Green Lemon has been a long time coming.

You may or may not know this about me, but I am something of an info junkie. I find something that interests me (yoga, candy-making, co-dependency) and I will spend every minute available to me researching that topic to death. I generally end up something of an amateur expert, complete with notebooks full of notes.

So I was thinking, maybe other people (other than my poor husband who is forced to listen) would like to learn about these things too. Take advantage of my crazed research to get interested in something new.

My first day brainstorming for this blog I came up with a list of over 100 topics and subjects that I consider myself an expert in, or at least have something to say about. Here is a sampling:

How to Make Inexpensive Cleaning Products

How to Make Your Own Bourdoir Book

How to Make a Cafe Rio Salad

How to Pretend You’re Asleep

How to not stress about your wedding

How to stay in love with your spouse even when he does annoying things

How to Stand up For Yourself

Hot to Not Disclose You are a Facebook Stalker

How to Survive a Crazy Loud, Techno-Loving Downstairs Neighbor

How to Interpret your Dreams

How to Know if the Child You are Nannying Hates You

How to Make Killer Guacamole

How to Fight Fair

Bad Romance Novels, & Why I Aspire to Write One

How to Pretend You Know what is Going on While Watching Sports

How to Get Your SH** Together, House Edition

How to Survive a Breakup

How to Keep your Blood Sugar Low

How to Pass a Shakespeare Literature class without reading a single play

How to Train for Your First Triathlon / Half-Marathon / 5K

How to Be On Time

How to not be afraid of the Adult Room at the Blue Boutique

How to Know if Someone is Stuck in High School

How to Appreciate Trashy TV Shows