Abigail Phelps
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Psychological Scavenger Hunt

5/22/2014

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It's Throwback Thursday so I've been trying to think of something appropriately "throwbackish" to blog about. I think that moving forward #TBT blogs will be reserved for Abigail Phelps herself, blogging about her ridiculous, fantastic, mind-blowing past, but today I think I will take the opportunity to introduce Abby once more.

I know that I've walked through all of this before, but the recent trip to Simsbury, Connecticut - the flagship stop on the #AbbyTour - brought the memories of Abby's origins to the forefront once more. If you've been reading the blog or the Facebook posts with a feeling of, "This is fun, but I have no idea what's happening!" then this is for you. This is the true story of how Abigail Phelps began as nothing more than a fun novel about a fictional character surrounded by real-life celebrities as the supporting cast but became a psychological scavenger hunt.

I've always been obsessed with pop culture, so writing a book which featured people I already knew too much about seemed like a no brainer. Below is a slideshow featuring those who probably would have been characters in the book if I had written it in 1993 or so. (Please note: five people you will see below are actually in Abigail Phelps or Scenes From Highland Falls. I am nothing if not loyal.)
Abigail Phelps is a figure skater and an actress who not only interacts with real-life celebrities, she takes over their lives. She needed a best friend, and George Clooney seemed like a fun choice, but let's not stop there. Why not have George and Abby star together in some actual acting project like, oh I don't know...maybe this one?
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Sorry, Julianna Margulies. In AbbyWorld, the role of Carol Hathaway on "ER" was played by Abigail Phelps. And that was totally an idea I could get behind and go somewhere with. These shows and movies and skating routines that I knew so well...what if I could place a character in the center of the action? I was pretty sure that was something that hadn't been done before - at least to this extent - and I decided to run with it. And once I started running, I just ran away! Realism schmealism! I wanted Abby to be ridiculously famous and successful and busy, and somehow manage to accomplish more in her lifetime than twenty women. So I started stealing lives and experiences like there was no tomorrow.

The slideshow below just really makes me laugh. I've never put this many of them together, and I had a little too much fun doing it. Look at the photos and know that the woman in the photo is actually Abby Phelps. Don't be confused or distracted by the different appearances. They're all Abby. That's all you need to know. (By the way...if you read the books, I promise you won't be able to look at them again without thinking of Abby anyway...) Each of these movies or skating routines is prominently featured in the books.
So that was all super fun, but at some point I decided the real story was actually the stuff that no one would have ever seen. What if you paired this woman, who after accomplishing all she had was clearly one of the most famous women alive, with a love interest who had been one of the most famous people alive literally since the day he was born? Together, they created an explosive pairing which, while eternally speculated about in the media and the public at large, somehow managed to conceal all of its secrets and keep them hidden, to be released only on their terms.


Abigail Phelps met John F. Kennedy Jr. on the campus of Brown University. Abby tripped over a tree root and John helped her pick up her books. Simple as that. But of course nothing involving Abigail Phelps is every truly simple. They bonded that day over their lives in the public eye, and John expressed, much to Abby's dismay, his relief that she had actually taken a bit of pressure off of him. She had become so famous and such a media darling that - at least for a time - John got to walk around campus relatively unnoticed. They were too busy watching for Abby.


That was the story. It was written and almost complete, and simple compared to what it became. I've told this so many times, but I still believe it's worth telling... It was already decided that Abigail Phelps, a fictional character with a name I had chosen randomly, would live in Simsbury, Connecticut. Why? Because Ekaterina Gordeeva and Sergei Grinkov lived there and trained there. Abby had already taken over Ekaterina's life of course... Christopher Dean flew into New York from London to train with Abby, and Simsbury was a pretty easy drive for them. She was close to New York, she was close to Providence, Rhode Island where she and John attended Brown...it was just a convenient and easy decision for me to make for my character. And then my husband stumbled upon the real life history. In Simsbury, the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution is named the Abigail Phelps Chapter. Abigail was born in April of 1706 and was the mother of three Revolutionary War heroes. You can't pass through town without encountering the Phelps name at every turn, and the Phelps family is interwoven throughout every bit of Simsbury's history.

My Abigail Phelps had been given new life. That was her real story. That was her real history. She was part of this historic family in this historic town - so why did she run from that? Why did she create this delusional world in an exceedingly driven effort to keep her past hidden? And how was it possible that the story at the center of it all - the one in which she didn't take over anyone else's life, but still managed to rewrite history - was the one based in truth? The one which seemed the most unrealistic of all - the hidden love story between Abigail Phelps and John F. Kennedy Jr. - was the one that held all of the answers.

I've been putting an Oscar Wilde quote everywhere lately. It goes like this: "No army can withstand the strength of an idea whose time has come.” The time for Abigail Phelps had come - that much was clear. And please don't mistake that comment for me tooting my own horn, or elevating my idea to greatness. Ha! I wish I could take credit for the most brilliant parts of Abby, but her story actually seemed to write itself. Her time had come, and I just got to experience the sheer joy of putting it on paper.

To purchase the Abigail Phelps series for Kindle or in paperback, click here. And please share with others! Thank you!
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#AbbyTour: 1040 Fifth Avenue

5/20/2014

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I've begun about five different drafts of this blog. I've been promising to blog about the #AbbyTour and now I can avoid it no longer. And don't get me wrong - it's not that I actually want to avoid it. And it's certainly not that I have nothing to write about. Quite the opposite. We crammed so much into that week, that I don't even know where to begin. And here's the extraordinary thing: we didn't just cram in stops and marketing and sightseeing. We crammed in experiences! I want to write about each and every one of them, but I'm afraid that's going to be impossible. I started out thinking I would break it down into days, or cities, or #AbbyStops, but no structure seems to be inclusive enough. So there shall be no structure. I'm going to write about random things as they come to me. Some of them may discuss Abby and some may not - because there were moments which were for Abby, and moments which were not.

Today, we begin with something that was unmistakably, undeniably Abby.

If there is one specific location in the Abigail Phelps series which is more pivotal than any other, it would have to be the apartment of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. 1040 Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

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Photo by Bethany Turner 5-9-14
It would probably be easier to list dramatic moments in Abby's life which didn't take place at 1040 Fifth Avenue. First, the real life history:
After the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, Jackie relocated, along with John Jr. and Caroline, to Manhattan. The 15th floor of this luxury apartment building on the Upper East Side was where she raised her children, and remained her home until she died there in 1994. John announced her death to the world under the 1040 awning.
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Now, the Abby History.
Abby's first visit to 1040 was in 1980, the day after she met John...
     As we took the elevator up to Mrs. Onassis’s beautiful apartment overlooking Central Park, I was struck by the strangeness of my nervousness. I was very nervous, but not because I was about to meet the most famous woman in the world, a former First Lady. I was nervous because I was about to meet John’s mother, and that realization actually helped me to relax. We were a normal young couple, and he was taking me to meet his mother for the first time. It just didn’t get more normal than that.
     I had just convinced myself of that when we stepped off the elevator and into the most enormous, beautiful foyer I had ever seen. I began to hyperventilate a little. We weren’t like any other couple at all! I was a famous figure skater, and I had just met this guy yesterday, and his mother was going to hate me. I’d barely slept and I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to put intelligent sentences together - and this was the woman who had charmed heads of state and foreign diplomats and legends of every art form known to man. The enormity of the situation truly dawned on me for the very first time. I was in love with John-John!

Years later, upon Mrs. Onassis's death in May of 1994 - 20 years ago yesterday, I should note - Abby returned to 1040. It wasn't her first time back, but it was the most important, at least for the foundation of the books, and perhaps for the foundation of Abby's life! She went to New York to be a friend to John, but it wasn't John who greeted her on the 15th floor...
     I stepped into the elevator with Bernard and we made our way to the top floor. As we rose higher and higher, memories of being in that elevator came back to me - most notably the first time John took me there, the day after we met. I smiled at the memory. I had been so nervous. But somehow those nerves were safe and innocent. The nerves I felt as I rode up with Bernard, without John by my side, felt dangerous.
     We got to Mrs. Onassis’s penthouse, and part of me wanted to hold on to Bernard for dear life, but I quickly lectured myself that I was being ridiculous, and I prepared to make my way out as the elevator came to a stop. And as I stepped into that beautiful foyer, the next emotion I felt was sadness. Even the art on the wall and the lamps on the tables seemed less elegant without Mrs. Onassis in their presence.
     Sadness was soon forgotten as I noticed I didn’t see anyone and I didn’t hear anyone. I quickly turned around, but Bernard was gone. And then, from behind me, I heard the thick New England accent which I associate with everything I truly hate in the world.

And then the next time she was there...
Well, okay...I don't think I should post that part, actually! Suffice it to say, John and Abby got a little steamy. And then, Abby's demons reappeared.
     In my head, I was screaming, but on the outside, nothing. I just couldn’t breathe, though actually I think that may have just been on the inside too.
     I turned around and ran out the door, just needing to get away from that place. I ran to the elevator and pushed the button, but it wasn’t moving quickly enough. I pushed it over and over, and then turned and ran for the stairs. As I got to the stairs, John caught up, pulling his shirt on as he ran after me, buttoning it up as he chased me down the many, many flights.
     “Abby, please! What did I do? I don’t understand.” He was pleading with me with his whole heart, but I didn’t know or care right then. Remembering it now, I can feel his pain and confusion as I think of the tone of his voice. “Abby, don’t do this!” he shouted as we reached the ground floor and I ran for the door. “Whatever it is, please talk to me. Don’t walk out of my life again. Please!”
     As I got out on the sidewalk, at least I felt like I could breathe again and I was coherent enough to notice that we were attracting a crowd, but I didn’t care. Yes, that must have been quite the sight: JFK Jr. and Abby Phelps, supposedly just friends getting together for lunch, running out of Jackie O’s apartment, very winded from what felt like a thousand flights of stairs and very disheveled from other physical activity.
     I didn’t care that people were watching because I don’t think I cared about anything right then except escape. I don’t think John cared either, but only because he was so concerned about me.
     “Abby!” He caught up to me as I stood on the curb, maybe about to hail a cab, maybe about to run into traffic - I really don’t know. He pulled me to him and held me as close as he could. “Come on, my car’s right down here, remember? Let’s go somewhere and talk.” He started walking me toward his car, and I lost control.
     “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. I pulled away from him, again disregarding the hurt and bewildered expression on his face.
     He was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by the feeling of helplessness. “Abby, please.”
     I should have told him I was sorry, that it had nothing to do with him, that I needed some time and then I would be all right. But right then I wasn’t sorry, and I certainly didn’t know if I would be all right.
     A taxi pulled over to the curb and I reached for the door handle, but John blocked me. By then, not only had the public at large gathered to witness the drama, the paparazzi had as well. I knew that wasn’t good, even in my messed-up state.
     “Move. Everyone’s watching,” I said to John, quietly.
     “I don’t care. I don’t care! I am so tired of caring about who’s watching or who thinks what. You are the only one I care about, and you are scaring the hell out of me.”
     Then I pulled together every ounce of strength and fortitude I could muster to say to him, through clenched teeth in a tone that I knew he would take seriously, “Move. Everyone is watching. Every second that you don’t let me go, I get one second closer to ending up in the hospital again. Or worse.” His face fell as he realized exactly what I meant. “If you love me even half as much as you say you do, move.”
     Once again, I wasn’t playing fair. I was holding him responsible for too much, but he moved, and then he just stood there, speechless and torn apart, cameras flashing all around him, as I got into the taxi and made my escape.

It was unbelievably surreal being there, just standing out in front of the apartment. Many years - a couple of decades, in fact - before I wrote Abigail Phelps, I was a Kennedy aficionado, and I would have recognized 1040 Fifth Avenue as surely as I would have recognized the White House, or my own home. I'd never been there in person before May 9, 2014, but when I placed Abby there, I had envisioned it as clearly as if I'd grown up on the Upper East Side and walked past it on the way to school. It seemed so natural to have so much of Abby's journey pass through those secure doors, carefully watched at all times by a devoted doorman, whose name you will never be able to convince me was anything other than Bernard.
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Photo by Bethany Turner 5-9-14
CLICK HERE TO ORDER THE ABIGAIL PHELPS BOOKS FROM AMAZON, IN PAPERBACK OR FOR KINDLE.
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Standing Tall On The Wings Of My Dream

5/3/2014

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I have a touch of writer's block today. Nothing horrible - just can't figure out how to get from point A to point B without losing all of my readers to boredom. That's all. Every author has a tried and true technique for breaking through the block, from what I hear. Some just keep going, even if it's rubbish. Some jump to the end and write backwards. Some go for a hike, or watch a movie. What do I do, you may ask?

I, apparently, seek out inspiration from TV Theme Songs. I mean, if this inspirational classic, courtesy of Balki and Cousin Larry, doesn't inspire you, nothing will.
Think about it. Whatever inspiration you are seeking or reassurance you need, there is a television theme song for you. If you, like me, have quit your full time job and are throwing all of your energy and effort into a writing career which, let's face, could very easily amount to nothing, "Perfect Strangers" is the one for you. 

But then again, maybe that doesn't fit your situation. Maybe you're a lonely old man, or an orphan, or an uptight kid who's been away at military school, or really just any person who thought they were going to be alone forever and never expected a little girl with a strange name/a really rich dad you've never met with a giant train set in his house/the family whose house you clean to really make their way into your heart. If that's your life, then you of course can seek inspiration from one of the following:
But what if you're just beginning to embark on your new life, raising a family with your best friend and your dead wife's brother? Or, even more difficult yet, what if an ex-girlfriend left you AND another one of her exes custody of her teenage daughter? I know that both of these situations have affected many of you, so here's a little inspiration just for you...
The point is there is no problem too big or too small for a TV theme. And what if you're a grumpy old church deacon who occasionally feels like jumping rope? Yep...there's something for you as well. Just keep dreaming, Deacon Frye. Just keep dreaming.
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