May 2nd –

Dear Diary…, no that sounds weird. Hey! Everybody it’s your girl. No, that sounds even worse. Why did I agree to Nana’s demands and write a journal? Anyway…

Since I already butchered my opening lines and would hate to throw out a perfectly good notebook because of a potential black scribble of ink, I’m just going to keep going. My name is Katie. Katie Morgan. If I was going to be like the girls in the Regency novels my sister likes, I would be Miss Katherine Eleanor Morgan, daughter of (Katie, FOCUS! Remember your deal with Nana!)

Sorry about that, again. Journal-writing is tough for me, though scribbling out my random thoughts onto a page might actually be better than talking to myself. This house is huge and empty. I’ve lived in this house for almost… two weeks now and despite being a devout introvert and homebody, I might actually miss people.

Why am I living in an old Victorian mansion by myself? I’m glad you asked. It started the month before my college graduation. I was proudly ready to accept my master’s degree in cultural anthropology when a balding man in a plaid suit showed up at our family home with a manila envelope addressed to me. Postal worker? No. I found out later that he was Mr. Barnaby, my late grandmother’s personal valet, confidant, and you guessed it – attorney!

My mother was gracious enough to invite our uninvited guest into the parlor but then left him alone in our parlor. I honestly think she might have forgotten about him there, for a little while. You see, while my mother is kind, sweet, and a perfect hostess – she is the mother of fifteen children. You read that right. Fifteen. My parents could put the Lady Who Lived in a Shoe to shame. With fifteen children, twelve siblings-in-law, about a million nieces and nephews, two dogs, and a parakeet in the house – it was to get lost in the shuffle.

Everything changed when I read Mr. Barnaby’s letter. My nana had taken a special interest in me over the years, despite being the reclusive, eccentric old lady of my dreams. She’d send me birthday cards every year, souvenirs from her many world travels, and occasionally would take me on adventures, just the two of us, without my army of siblings.

In the letter, she said she was giving me her house and a cash inheritance that would take care of ALL my student loans and pay off my trusty Hyundai Sonata. There was a catch though. (Isn’t there always?) First, I had to live in the house for a year. I could do that one. Since I had moved back home, I had taken up residency in the small room that once had been my father’s office. The fish smelling room was preferable to sharing a room with my two younger sisters.

Second, I was to use this time to write my book. The kicker was, I’m not writing a book! It was something that I had dreamily told my nana when I was sixteen and had dreams of becoming the next J.K. Rowling. The final condition was that I had to write a diary. This diary.

Now, you’re all caught up on my incredibly complex backstory. Yay!