Sunday, December 24, 2017

Kristen Jensen of The Thin Person Inside by Rochelle Weber @RochelleWeber #ContemporaryRomance #RockStar #WeightLoss

Q:       What's your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about YOU?
KJ:     I guess the reason people would want to interview me is because of the unique way I met Sean Wesley. His manager pulled strings to get him into treatment at the Danville, Illinois, VA because he was having trouble staying clean after he ODed during a recording session. I was there to address my food addiction.  I weighed three-hundred pounds when we met. Who’d ever expect a rock star like Sean to fall for someone that fat?

Q:       Can you tell us about your hero?
KJ:     Sean’s tall, and drop-dead handsome with black hair and incredible blue eyes. He’s one of the lead singers of The Haystack, and I was in love with his music long before I met him. He’s kind, and intelligent, and incredibly brave. Can you imagine a pianist making a comeback after losing a hand?

Q:       What problems do you have to face and overcome in your life?
KJ:     Having been morbidly obese most of my adult life was a pretty big one, pun not intended.

Q:       Do you expect your hero to help or is he the problem?
KJ:     Sean and I support each other.  We have different addictions, so we’re not binge buddies.  Although, he says he was a fat kid and he has to watch his food, so I guess I’m a good influence on him.

Q:           Where do you live?
KJ:     My apartment’s in Rantoul, Illinois.  It’s about 125 miles south of Chicago, ten miles north of Champaign, and forty-five miles northeast of Danville.  I was raised in Chicago, but rents are less down here and I’m close to my daughters.

Q:           During what time period does your story take place?
KJ:     You would call our romance a contemporary one.

Q:           How are you coping with the conflict in your life?
KJ:     Aside from having had a heart attack recently, I’m doing okay. I’ve lost about a hundred pounds so far and I’m still losing. I work out along with Sean when he does his physical therapy, and I’m healthier than I’ve been in over twenty years. My kids aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me anymore.

Q:       Those’re all the questions we have for you. Thank you for speaking to us.
KJ:     You’re welcome.  I really think Sean is much more interesting than I am.  After all—he’s the rock star. Oh, and Happy Holidays!

Rochelle Weber Biography

Rochelle Weber is romance author, a Navy veteran, and holds a BA in Writing from Columbia College, Chicago. Her two previous novels, Rock Bound and Rock Crazy are available in all formats.

Ms. Weber has over twenty year’s editing experience and publishes the Marketing for Romance Writers Magazine. She battles bi-polar disorder, quipping, “You haven’t lived until you’ve been the only woman on the locked ward at the VA.” She lost about a hundred-fifty pounds and kept it off for about three years, and has incorporated these experiences into her books. Ms. Weber lives in Round Lake Beach, Illinois. She has two married daughters, eight assorted grandchildren and step-grandchildren, and a cat who has her very well-trained.


The Plot:

Kristen Jensen, a Navy veteran, tips the scale at a crippling three hundred pounds. In desperation she asks her VA therapist if she can go into addictions treatment with the guys where she meets Sean. With black hair, blue eyes, and a perfect body she figures the reason he’s speaking to her is that she’s the only other person in the room.

The Haystack told their lead singer, Sean Wesley, to get clean or get out. But none of the big-name clinics worked. Sean’s a Desert Storm vet, so they send him to a VA in the middle of nowhere. When he meets Kristen the first day, he thinks it’s tragic such a pretty girl’s trapped in a huge body. And her honesty, intelligence, and bravery are even more impressive. Sean’s drawn to Kristen, but she’s had decades to build layers of defense.


***** Amazon Review by Heather Haven: Well done, Ms. Weber. This is a raw and revealing account of addiction, with a sweetness to it that pulls the reader in from the first.

Christmas Excerpt:

Around eleven, she heard the sound of the outer hallway door opening and the voices of her daughters echoing in the breezy corridor. Kristen struggled out of the reclining position as the girls knocked. Actually, it sounded as though they were kicking the door.
“Our hands’re full, Mom.”
“Be right there, Viki.” She tried letting the rocking motion of the recliner help her to propel forward and out of the chair, but plopped back again.
“Hurry, Mom! It’s cold out here. Those doors never shut properly, and there’s no heat out here!”
“Coming, Carrie!” Bracing herself on both armrests, she again rocked the chair, and with momentum and some exertion finally managed to rise to her feet. Her back protested as she waddled to the door and opened it. The girls were laden with various casserole dishes and Eric stood behind them carrying an electric turkey roaster. There was another young man behind him, and Sean and Frank stood on the staircase. They all crowded into the small living/dining room.
“Where’s the turkey?”
“It’s prepped and in the roaster. All we have to do is put it on the counter and plug it in,” Viki announced.
“And the rest of this?”
“Everything’s ready. We have a time-table for putting stuff in the oven. Otherwise, we’re ready to go. We have nibblies and salads in the car. They need to go in the fridge before they freeze out there.”
“Um, my refrigerator’s fairly full.”
“Mine’s empty. You forget, Kristen—between the two of us, we have two kitchens, so we have two stoves, two ovens, two refrigerators, even two microwaves.”
“And we have two young men. Please forgive us. I’m Kristen, Carrie’s mom. And you are?”
“Alan Vale, Ma’am.”
“Hi, Alan. This is my neighbor, Sean, and our friend, Frank.”
Alan shook hands with both men, and then looked at Sean a long moment. “You look like—”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Sean said. “And I sing better than he does, but it’s Johnson, not Wesley.”
Kristen had to turn away to hide the smirk on her face.
Alan held up a Wal-Mart canvas bag. “Carrie told me you folks don’t drink and that you’re on a diet, Mrs. Jensen, so instead of wine or sweets, I brought along a game—Apples to Apples.”
“I love that game! And please, call me Kristen. Mrs. Jensen is my ex-mother-in-law.”
They spent the afternoon with Christmas carols on the stereo playing board games, laughing at Apples to Apples, teaming up for Trivial Pursuit, and the elders beating the kids at Finish Lines because the game had lots of old commercial jingles the kids didn’t know. After supper, they played card games like Uno and Skip Bo.
Here again, Alan had a contribution. It was a game called Zar and he called it “Uno on steroids.”
“Where in the world did you get this game?” Kristen asked.
“I bought it from a guy at a science fiction convention,” Alan replied. “I’m not sure whether he invented the game or if he knows the guy who did. You can order it online. I’ll leave you the address.”
“Yeah, that’d be great on the bus,” Sean said.
“What bus?” Alan asked. Kristen saw the light dawn in his eyes. “You really are Sean Wesley.”
“Oh, darn,” Kristen muttered.
“Yeah, kid. Johnson’s my mother’s maiden name. And I’d appreciate it if you kept our secret.”
“But what’re you doing here?”
“You no doubt read about my OD?”
“I’m in recovery. There’s a special program down here I wanted to try, and then I met Kristen, and I decided to stay here for aftercare.”
“Wow! You’re a real cool dude. I wish I could tell my mom about this. She’s a real big fan.”
“I’ll make a deal with ya. You keep my secret, and when I’m ready to go back to LA, you can bring your mom over for dinner, and we’ll jam a bit.”
“Oh, man… She’ll love that! It’s a deal, Mr. Wesley.”
“What’s this Mr. Wesley crap? You’ve been calling me Sean all day.”
After the kids had pie and cookies for dessert, the girls washed up the dishes, packed up the goodies and got ready to go home. They left meat, plain baked sweet potato and salad in Kristen’s refrigerator and stocked Sean’s fridge with the rest of the fixin’s and a slice of each kind of pie as well as a dozen of each kind of cookie. They even made up a take-home box for Frank.
“I didn’t think I’d have much of a Christmas without booze, Kristen, but I don’t think I ever laughed so much at a holiday.”
“I’m so glad you had fun, Frank. I have friends whose definition of a good party is ‘any gathering of two or more people where everyone comes away with good memories the next day.’ That’s what I want for my guests.”
“You definitely achieved that,” Alan chimed in.
“You’re the one who brought Apples to Apples and Zar. Thanks so much, Alan.”
“You’re welcome. Where do you live, Frank. Can we give you a lift?”
“I’m all the way over in Danville.”
“We got special permission for Frank to spend the night here and we’ll take him back tomorrow when we go over there for Lecture,” Sean explained.
“Oh, well, in that case, thanks again for a great dinner, Kristen. Really great meeting you, Sean.”
After they left, Frank excused himself and went upstairs to Sean’s apartment.
Sean lingered a bit. He sat on Kristen’s couch and shared the foot-rest of her recliner while they watched TV.
This is so cozy. I don’t think I ever felt this comfortable with Dave after the girls were born, Kristen thought as she drifted to sleep. She awoke, looked at her watch and saw it was three a.m. Sean was spread out on the couch, snoring softly. She
struggled out of the recliner as quietly as she could and covered him with a blanket.
Oh, Goddess, I want to wake him and invite him into my room even if it’s just to snuggle. But he turns me on! I can’t remember how long it’s been since anyone’s turned me on this way! Instead, she kissed his cheek, turned off the TV, turned out the lights and went to bed. It had been a really nice Christmas—the nicest in many years.
And she had maintained her abstinence and been perfectly happy while everyone else ate goodies all around her. But she couldn’t sleep with the goody out on the couch distracting her. Goddess, help me!

Contact Rochelle At:


Buy Links:

MuseItUp Publishing, Inc.:

No comments:

Post a Comment