Confessions of a Nerdy Girl Diaries

My first zit … my first bra … my first kiss My birth mom missed them all. She should have been there to tell me it was fine, to reassure me and hold my hand when I got scared. Instead, now I'll never get the chance to meet her because my dad's moving us two thousand miles away-to California.But she needs to know what's happening. She has to understand what's going on in my life, what's important to me and why I act like I do from time to time.That's why I started this diary. It's a collection of my thoughts, wishes, fears and desires. Hundreds of them, from the past 11 years, all committed to paper and meant for the eyes of just one person. My mom…

New school… New problems… New diary. As if starting a new middle school isn't bad enough; now, I'm pretty sure my adoptive mom wants to send me back to the orphanage, my evil adoptive sister is trying to ruin my life, and the entire eighth grade thinks I'm a total dork because of an unfortunate beach experience involving a poisonous jellyfish. (OK, it was only a waterlogged plastic baggie that I mistook for a jellyfish, but still.) All of that, and more, recorded on the pages of this diary, and dedicated to "M"- the mother who gave me away. Dear M ... Begin the entries in the diary of chronic outsider Willa Shisbey. From her constant humiliations at middle school, to the challenges of puberty, Willa shares her deepest secrets in a diary dedicated to the mother who gave her up for adoption. Both humorous and heartfelt, Unlucky Thirteen, the second book in the Confessions of a Nerdy Girl diary series, will appeal to fans of Terri Libenson, Raina Telgemeier, and Jennifer L. Holm.

Shared bunk beds… Stolen underwear… Cheesy camp songs… My first camp experience just might be my last! When a major mix-up sends me, nerdy girl extraordinaire, to a residential sports camp for Olympic hopefuls instead of science camp, I know anything that can go wrong, will. My only hope is to suck it up and try not to mess anything up. Between majorly missing my dad and my worry over his and Diane's divorce, camp takes a toll on me. (And let's be real, I'm not exactly well-suited for physical agility tests and early morning workout sessions.)Throw in some embarrassing mishaps and a few emotional letters home, and this year's summer camp will be one for the record books

A letter to Santa. A letter to the Easter Bunny. A letter to the Sandman? Who writes a letter to the Sandman?Me, that's who. Willa Shisbey, nerd extraordinaire.I'm back with another installment of Willa's Window, my column in the Lifestyle section of my local newspaper. This time, I'm sharing my letters, including those my dad unearthed in our garage.Welcome to my nightmare.Not only will you read about me bartering with the Tooth Fairy, but you'll also take a gander at the ridiculous Santa lists I wrote over the years, and the long-winded, slightly melodramatic letters I wrote to the characters and figures we all admire.But wait, there's more!In addition to the lame letters, you'll have the pleasure of reading the backstories surrounding my childhood letters.This tell-all, if you will, is my homage to wonderfully wild, brave, confident, creative, understanding, and compassionate characters who paved the way for nerdy girls like me and shined a light on what truly matters in life. Without them, I don't know who I'd be or what I would've done. What I know is they helped me, a self-professed nerd, navigate the difficulties of life, family, school, and everything in between.

My OCD is in overdrive. My family is imploding. And there's a chance I might be an orphan – AGAIN!If I ever write a memoir, the title will be Disaster.Seriously, just how many girls can say they've had not just one mom but TWO ditch them in twelve short years? Or that they've suffered through the humiliation of bra shopping-WITH THEIR DAD! Or that their entire middle school thinks they're a complete and total nerd just because the girl happens to know a couple of important fart facts. (Did you know the average person produces 500 to 1,500 milliliters of gas per day and farts between 10 and 20 times?)With all that's going wrong, I don't know which way is up anymore, and I'm not quite sure where I belong or even what the whole idea of family means. But what I do know is the view from where I'm standing isn't all that great.I share all of these feelings and more in the pages of my diary, dedicated to "M"-my birth mother.