About Jill

Before anything else, this is how it began.

This might surprise-shock you . . .

You've been warned!

Deep breath.

The first book I ever read cover-to-cover was completely inappropriate for an 11-year-old.

Let me explain...

I was labeled "slow" in elementary school. Put in special education classes where there was nothing particularly "special" about them.

I didn't read until I was 9, and didn't really comprehend what I was reading until I was nearly 11.

The other kids knew. Teachers whispered. I felt—different. Like my brain was wired wrong.

But instead of worrying about it, or putting much effort into trying harder, I became The Mother-hen of my class. I focused on taking care of everyone around me.

Which meant I became a rather keen observer. A people watcher.

As an only child, I was very capable of entertaining myself, and well, watching people was fascinating.

More on why that's important—a superpower—another time.

But for this story-share, I'd left the classroom for summer break, still not reading but honestly not caring.

I mean it wasn't fun and I'm all about doing things only if they're fun.

I once told my Grandma I'd only play Uno with her if I won.

I was a cute, kind of bossy kid and you must admit winning is fun.

Now back to my favorite pastime. People watching.

Summertime with my Dad and his girlfriend on a sailboat.

Trapped, bored, but also happily occupying myself by finger-writing secret messages on every surface of the vessel with chalk-like residue left by the salt air.

Through a small round window, I watched my pseudo-mom smile at no one.

She was down below, out of the hot sun, reading a book. Moving from window to window, I drew hearts and hieroglyphics on the glass, watching her go from smiling to sniffing.

Was she crying? Over a book?!

I was enthralled.

So much so that I spent the entire day stalking her as she read.

Completely absorbed, she didn't realize my eyes were covertly glued to her ever-changing facial expressions.

I was beside-myself curious to know what was making her teeth dig into her bottom lip, her face light up in delight, then shift into a deep frown.

But it was her sudden belly-deep laugh that had me stop drawing with salt and simply watch her read.

When I saw her wipe a tear off her pale cheek, I knew I had to get my hands on that book.

It took a few days, but I was there, waiting when she turned to the very last page, held her breath and finished that book—cover to cover—the end.

She held it closed for a moment, released a deep sigh I could almost feel, then set it down on the side table.

As she walked away, I did something I'd never done before.

I became a thief.

Yep, I stole it. Well, "borrowed" it.

Okay, fine—I snagged it and hid in the corner under a window that streamed in dimming orange light and stared at the cover.

Slowly sounding out each word and running my fingers over the letters.

A Jackie Collins Novel.

Completely scandalous. Utterly inappropriate. And absolutely, completely... delicious.

For the first time in my life, I read a book cover-to-cover. Not because I had to. But because I was totally, helplessly captivated by the story.

That night, I discovered I wasn't "slow" at all.

I had simply been uninterested, unimpressed. Waiting for the right story.

That forbidden romance novel didn't just teach me to read and comprehend—it taught me that stories have power.