It seems like everyone I work with has some great story about how their family shows support of their career in the news. Alaric’s father paid for his college education, no strings attached—scholarship by Daddy. Dave comes from this huge Russian family, and they’re all so proud of him they could explode. Maggie’s parents buy her everything her little Fictional heart desires, and Mahir’s parents are so happy with what he does that they send care packages to the office. Care packages from England, sent to an office where he doesn’t even work. That’s how cool with things they are.

Shaun may hate the Masons, but at least they supported what he chose to do with his life. No cotillions, no coming-out parties, no “Oh, honey, this is just a phase” or “Please, darling, it’s just one night.” Just one night, just one dance, just one silk dress, and the next thing I knew, I’d be just one more product of the Westchester Trophy Wife Factory, proudly producing quality goods since the days of the Mayflower. I am a card-carrying Daughter of the American Revolution. I can foxtrot, quickstep, waltz, and tango. I know how to plan a cocktail party, make small talk, and overlook a man’s personality, manners, and hygiene in favor of what matters: his bloodline and his bank account.

font size="3">These are the things my parents taught me. They raised me to be just like my sisters—sweet, pliant, pretty, and available to the highest bidder. It’s too bad I had other ideas. I am the shame of my family, the bad seed whose name will be quietly erased from the family tree the day after my picture gets posted on the Wall. I am the one who couldn’t be content playing nicely with the other children, and who had to go out and get her hands all dirty.

It’s days like this when I miss Georgia most of all. I may have abandoned the Newsies to go Irwin the second the opportunity presented itself, but she understood what I meant when I talked about my family, about not being sorry that I let them down. The things that made her a pretty lousy friend made her an excellent boss, and I think this would all be a hell of a lot easier if she were here.

Mom, Dad? The next horrible thing I do in public is for you. I hope you choke on it.

—From Charming Not Sincere, the blog of Rebecca Atherton, March 8, 2041

Hello, darlings! I hope you’re ready for some sizzling romance, swashbuckling adventure, tragic love, and mysterious happenings, because all those and more are on the schedule for this week. I’ll be on the live chat every night from seven to ten Pacific time, and I’m always happy to talk about anything your little hearts desire. I’m your private Scheherazade, and I’m here to tell you stories all night long. Welcome to Maggie’s House of Horrors—I hope you’re planning to stay for a while.

After all, you know I always miss you when you’re gone.

—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 11, 2041