The Pretty Amy Project is a place where people who read PRETTY AMY and are moved by it can share their experiences.
As Amy says:
I’d wanted the words to be perfect. It seemed like they should be profound or something for as long as everyone had been waiting to hear them, but all I could say was yes. I guess sometimes saying what you mean is enough.
I knew there were a lot of Amy’s out there. I was an Amy and I had no one who really understood. I understand. I want to listen. I want other people to listen. And so the Pretty Amy Project was born.
Step 1. Read PRETTY AMY (this is the easiest step)
Step 2. Write your PRETTY AMY story. Tell us how you’ve felt like Amy. How you got over it. How you are getting over it. How you are embracing it. Tell us anything you’ve been too afraid to tell before.
Step 3. Send it to email@example.com Indicate whether we can use your first name or if you would like to be anonymous.
Step 4. Have the chance to be posted on my very cool author blog.
Well, I got my first submission and let me just say I am honored to have this story be the first. I hope everyone can learn from what this special reader has to say.
Amy feels totally alone when she meets Lila and Cassie, even though she’s got a bunch of other sophomores who she could have been with.
I know how it feels to be totally alone, even when surrounded by people.
My friends can barely be called that. I used to enjoy spending time with them, but now I dread sleepovers and going out with them. Whenever I’m with them, they find some way to poke fun of me and leave me feeling rotten. After spilling one too many of my secrets I feel I can no longer trust them, and I feel they hate me.
I organize a trip to the cinema, nobody else has enough money. Somebody else organizes a trip? Suddenly everybody is pulling ten pound notes from their pockets and heading on out. Generally on days everybody knows I’m busy.
They constantly tell me that I’m fat. I know I’m not as skinny as them, but I also know that I’m not overweight. Sure I don’t look like a super model by according to the BMI calculator, my weight is perfectly healthy. They also constantly tell me I’m ugly, I’m the punch line to every joke. They constantly tell me I can’t sing when I don’t sing loud enough for them to hear me and they can’t sing any better than I do. They constantly tell me I can’t play the trumpet, but I play music on a grade five level and tutor one of their sisters how to play.
When I’m with my friends I feel alone. Listening to them whine on about dramas while making jokes out of me. If we’re sitting next to each other, I’m also at the end of the row, everybody’s heads in the opposite direction. When I am on my own, I don’t feel so lonely, but I desperately wish I had some real friends.
Real friends who gave a damn.