My Own Private Hollywood is a YA romantic comedy about the unorthodox adventures of a young woman named Mona Benjamin:
Mona is your average girl—until she meets the runaway celebrity heartthrob Dmitri Dante. Now she can be not-so-average, the girlfriend of the most beautiful man on earth, and live happily ever after, right? Well, there’s just one thing: She hates him.
Targeted Age Group:: Teens
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I moved to Fort Collins, CO at the tender age of 15, a time when I was introduced to films such as Moulin Rouge and 16 Candles and When Harry Met Sally, so that’s where a lot of dreaming about my own love life took place…which led to the birth of My Own Private Hollywood, since my own love life proved to be very nonexistent. It was not long after that when I saw 17 Again in theaters and decided Zac Efron was tolerable. (High School Musical. Just. No.) And wouldn’t mind if he happened to come to the town I lived in. And meet me. And we hung out. And lived happily ever after.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Mona is essentially me. My 15 year old self, anyway. And Dmitri is Zac Efron, or course, and what ensues is what would happen had Zac Efron came to Fort Collins and fell in love with me. First, might I add, he fell in love with me first. Because I’m amazing.
Book Sample
I opened my eyes. The lights were off. I lifted my head to look at the clock. It was 1:30. I let my head drop back down and looked questioningly at the ceiling.
I turned onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin—which Joel no doubt put over me—and closed my eyes.
Minutes ticked by and I began to grow agitated that I couldn’t go back to sleep.
I looked at the clock. 2:06.
I sighed, kicking the covers off of me and sitting up on the edge of the bed. I slowly stood and inched my feet along the carpet, reaching out in front of me, feeling for my bag to find my phone.
My hand finally jammed into the wall, which hurt, but was a good thing because it helped me know where I was.
I found my phone and pressed a button to illuminate it. I held it out to the room and dim light filled my surroundings. I smiled when I saw Joel sleeping peacefully and so…movie star-like perfect on his back.
Then I noticed something on the nightstand next to him. I walked over to it and held my phone up to the label. Huh. He’d ordered wine at one point while I was asleep.
The words were in French so I couldn’t read it, but decided right then that I could probably make out what kind it was if I tasted it.
I grabbed the neck and glanced at him as I took a sip.
I nearly gagged as the driest tasting liquid I have ever had the misfortune of having swallowed slid down my throat. I squinted as I forced it down.
I looked disbelievingly at it; how could something taste so horrible?
I lifted an eyebrow and glanced at him again, taking one more sip. I swallowed it and sat on the edge of my bed, thinking it wasn’t so bad.
I took a few more, and…a few gulps more, and, like a good girl, I stopped before I reached the point where I couldn’t handle it and sat it back on the nightstand.
I looked over at the clock. 2:25.
I groaned, grabbing my hair and rubbing it over my face. Why did time have to go by so slow? Can’t…can’t we just…speed it up? Yeah. Why can’t we? I scratched my arm. Boy I have really dry skin. I need some lotion.
…why do we have skin? Is it because…because otherwise we wouldn’t have anywhere else to put lotion? If we didn’t have skin, would lotion makers make lotion for…for muscles and tissue and stuff? And we’d put…the lotion for our…tissue on our tissue and…it wouldn’t…be dry anymore…
I burped, then giggled at how long it was. It was the longest belch I’d ever heard in my life. Maybe in the history of mankind. In the history of the world. Dinosaurs, like…like big dinosaurs, like T-Rexes probably couldn’t’ve belched that…long…they’d have nothing on that…
I hiccupped. That one hurt. I think my heart maybe stopped. I hiccupped again. Oh no…is my heart stopping?
I put my hand over my heart and couldn’t feel the beep. The beep, beep, beep of my heart. I couldn’t hear it.
I hiccupped.
Oh no. My heart’s stopping! This is an emergency!
I ran over to Joel with record speed, after tripping over something that was, like, covered in a sock that…was attached to me, and…hit the floor and forgot where I was.
But I remembered. Of course I remembered, this was an emergency!
I crawled on the bed and shook Joel. “Joel, Joel wake up.”
“Yeah?” he said, like he’d been awake this whole time.
How does he do that? How is he so perfect? In every way he’s perfect. He’s like…like Mary Poppins but, but a boy. He’s a boy. So he’s like Mark Poppins. Marty. Marty Poppins. Or Joel Poppins. Joel…Michaels…Poppins…Mary?
“I think my heart stopped,” I said calmly, trying to be perfect like him and Mary Poppins, even in an emergency situation such as this.
“Are….Did you just speak with a British accent?”
“Joel, I don’t have time for this.” I’m dying for Pete’s sake! I hiccupped again.
Suddenly there was a blinding light and I closed my eyes, covering them with my arm. I groaned. Hmmm…the sun is rising early today.
“Mona, what are you doing?” He looked over at the clock. “It’s two in the morning.”
“I was wondering if…if maybe you’d like to hang out sometime,” I said, still covering my eyes from the sun.
“What?”
“You don’t have to say yeah, just, you know…I…” I hiccupped again. “Oh no, it’s still happening…”
For some reason he grabbed my elbow and because of that I was temporarily blinded by the sun. I squinted at him.
“Mona, are you sleep walking?”
“No, silly willy Billy…Jilly nilly…silly.”
He laughed. “What?”
“I…Joel, stop,” I moaned, hanging my head. I hated when he made me repeat myself. Then I feel even stupider. “Joel,” I said, covering his face with my hand, “Joel, Joel….Don’t ask me to repeat myself, I…I don’t like…repeating myself to you all the time, Joel…”
“Are you drunk?”
I laughed, pinching his nose with my fingers. “You say the darndest things sometimes, Joel. Joel…Joel.”
He laughed, pulling my hand from his nose. “Yes, I’m Joel.”
“Joel, you…you need to…” I swallowed. “Joel.”
He leaned over and picked up the bottle. “Mona!” he exclaimed, holding up the bottle for me to see.
“Yes I know, we’re acquainted, and…and all that so…don’t, don’t mind, don’t bother with…with introductions…”
“Mona, this bottle was full!”
“It…I know…I know that…and it is, it’s is…”
“I can’t believe you drank this whole bottle!”
“It was gross,” I said, pushing the bottle away from me.
He will not get away with offering me more gross wine, he, he knows better than that, he, he understands us, the, um, the time when all men just…you know. You know like, like act their age, it’ll…it’ll be time.
He laughed. “Mona, how do you feel?”
For some reason he felt my forehead, like I had a cold or something. A cold with a fever and…and flu.
“C’mon, let’s get you in the bathroom,” he said stupidly, like I needed to go to the bathroom or something. Like he knew I needed to go to the bathroom. Like he had Mona-bathroom-dar or something, when, when I needed to go to the bathroom.
He sat me on the side of the bathtub.
“Mona, how long has it been since you started drinking?”
He asked me seriously but was still smiling and laughing at me and you know what, he was probably jealous that he didn’t get to finish his gross wine and I…I did.
“Hand me that,” I said, hiccupping and pointing to the fine, fine looking lotion sitting on the counter.
He gave it to me and I opened the lid and emptied the whole thing on my dry, itchy skin on my arm.
“So much better,” I said, rubbing it in.
But…what? It disappeared. Where…what…why would it just disappear? I looked questioningly at my arm.
“Where’d it go?”
Then out of nowhere, Joel was walking back over to me from by the trash can.
“I just wiped it all off. Don’t you remember? Like a second ago—Mona, you stay here, I’m gonna call the hospital—”
“No, no, don’t, don’t call the spotical, I, see, I…”
I stood and suddenly felt this rush through my throat, and the next thing I knew I was bending over the toilet looking at last night’s lasagna.
“Ew,” I whined, suddenly insulted that Joel bent me over to see what was in the toilet. Thanks, Joel, I like you and all but I’d rather not see what comes out of you.
“Feel better?” he asked, flushing the toilet and sitting me upright.
He wiped my mouth with some toilet paper.
I closed my eyes. My throat burned. “I don’t feel good,” I said, closing my eyes.
Somehow I went from there, kneeling at the toilet, to lying in bed, and I moaned as my head began to hurt.
“Here,” Joel said, suddenly appearing and putting a wet washcloth on my forehead.
He squatted on the floor so he was eyelevel with me.
“How did you drink that whole thing?”
“I didn’t like it,” I groaned, my eyes shut.
“I know.”
“Why do you order poopy wines?”
“I don’t order poopy wines,” he said casually, adjusting the rag. “I order strong ones.”
I nodded. “It was strong.”
It was quiet.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“Should I take you to the spotical?”
I smiled. “Don’t,” I mumbled, “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Well good night,” he said, kissing my cheek.
He walked away and I could hear his footsteps grow quieter and, soon after, the click of him switching off the lamp.
“Joel,” I mumbled quietly.
“Mm.”
“Will you stay with me?”
It was quiet.
“I’m right here, Mona.”
“I’m scared.”
“Why are you scared?” I could hear the smile in his voice as he mocked…mocking me…mocked…scared.
“What if my heart stops?”
“Your heart won’t stop.”
“What if it does?”
“Then we go to the spotical.”
“Will you still? Please?”
I heard the bed springs squeak as he got off, then heard his footsteps as he walked across the aisle, then felt the bed lean as he climbed on next to me.
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