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Stephenie Meyer: The REAL Story

We all know the story of Twilight, but what about Stephenie Meyer - the genius behind it all? What's her story? And what of Poncho, her husband?


2. Chapter 2

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1896   Review this Chapter

“Another book signing?” Poncho asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry about it – I’ll be home before you can miss me.” I reached up and ran my hand through his golden hair.

“I just don’t know about this – don’t we risk exposure?” His eyebrows pulled together, and his golden eyes stared into mine with unfathomable intensity.

I risk exposure. You are all safe.”

“That’s just as bad, Bella,” he grumbled.

“This is what I love, Poncho. This is my passion. I write; and people read my books. Who am I to disappoint them? There are millions of girls out there just dying to meet the famous Stephenie Meyer.”

He said nothing, just leaned in and pressed his cold lips to mine. Silently, we walked out to the car, and I climbed into the passenger’s seat while he loaded my suitcase into the trunk. He drove me to the airport, never looking over or saying a word.

“Bye, honey,” he said, pulling me close and kissing me firmly on the lips.

“I told you,” I mumbled around his lips, “I’ll be back by tomorrow. I’m only flying to California.”

“Just make sure to stay out of the sun,” he warned.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. He kissed me once more, and then I turned and entered the flight terminal, leaving my Poncho behind me.


“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for – ladies and vamps, please put your hands together for Stephenie Meyer!” The crowd erupted into applause and loud cheering, and I recognized my queue. As I emerged from behind the red velvet curtains, people started screaming and waving their arms desperately, as if I were some beautiful celebrity, or a rock star.

Hours passed as I sat at the table and signed numerous copies of my books, spoke with eager teenage fans, and posed with strangers for pictures. Girls squealed and told me how much they loved my books, and asked when Midnight Sun would be finished. I told them the same thing over and over – I had no idea.

Finally the last straggler reached me, and I smiled at a young girl with grinned from ear to ear, and shook like she was about to pass out. She placed her copy of Twilight on the table, and I spun it around towards me, examining the battered cover and creased pages.

“What happened – did you run over it with your mom’s car?” I asked sarcastically. Her face froze in horror, and her hands appeared in front of her, waving frantically.

“Oh no! That’s not it! I don’t want you to think I didn’t take care of it – it’s my favoritest book ever!” Favoritest? Is that even a word? “I’ve just read it so many times because it’s so good – it’s the first one I bought.”

“I understand,” I said knowingly, trying to calm her down. At the rate she was going, I was afraid she might have a heart attack right there. “You know, a wise person once told me that you can tell the worth of a good book, not by the amount of pages within it, but by how many rips and tears it has. A really good book is battered and worn, simply because so many people have read it so many times.”

Her eyes took on a sparkling glow, and she looked like she was hanging on my every word. “Oh yes! I’ve read Twilight sixteen times, and New Moon seven, and Eclipse four, and Breaking Dawn five times!”

“Sixteen? I don’t even think my editor has read it sixteen times! You must be my biggest fan.” And from the look in her eyes, I was pretty sure that she was. It was a little creepy, to tell you the truth.

I flipped open the front cover of the paper back book and held my pen over the page. “And who is this for?” I asked in that generic way that I must have repeated a million times.

“Jessica,” she pronounced clearly.

“Jessica,” I repeated as I wrote her name at the top, followed by the message that I had practiced a hundred times, written and rewritten in millions of books, but adding a little personal touch at the end.

For Jessica – may my writing inspire you to achieve all your hopes and dreams. Keep reading, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. For my biggest fan, love, Stephenie Meyer.

I closed the book and slid it across the table to her, and she literally squealed with delight. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Meyer,” she said genuinely, cradling the book to her chest as if it were a baby. “Would it be too much to ask if I took a picture with you?” She pulled a black camera from her pocket. “It would mean the world to me.”

I agreed, and soon we were posing in front of the huge Twilight poster on the wall behind me. She grinned so hugely that I thought her cheeks might tear, and the M.C. took our picture with her small camera.

She took her camera back, and turned to go after bidding me farewell. But then she suddenly stopped in her tracks and spun around, exclaiming, “Oh! I almost forgot!” She picked up a huge box from off the ground and placed it on the table. “This is for you,” she said with a smile. “I made them myself.”

“Thank you, Jessica,” I replied, though I had no idea what was inside.

As I was about to open the box up, a car pulled up outside the bookstore and honked its horn. A stout, pudgy boy waddled into the store and called to the girl, “Come on – Mom said it’s time to go, Jess.” She groaned and turned to me.

“It was nice meeting my biggest fan,” I said. I extended my hand, and she looked like she would have a seizure. It must be her biggest dream, to be able to shake the hand of her favorite author. Slowly, she reached out and grasped my hand, her palm sweating with excitement. I shook her hand briefly, and then she said goodbye and left, the pudgy little boy waddling after her.

“I’m never washing my hand again,” she said in a squeaky voice to her brother.

I watched the girl leave, then turned back to the huge box on the table. It wasn’t taped, just held shut by the flaps. I pulled it open easily, finding a rather thick envelope on top, and a large mass of colored wads of felt beneath it.

I took no interest in the envelope, always having been a present-then-card kind of girl. I rifled through the box, looking over the wads of felt curiously, and examining the small paper tags tied to them. With a hysterical laugh, I realized what they were. Taped to the inside of the box was a business card.


I rushed in the door, carrying the brown cardboard box in my arms. Edward followed closely behind me, with a confused expression and my suitcase in hand.

“Everybody,” I called, “Come look at these. It’s probably the cutest thing in the entire universe.”

Alice was first to arrive, followed by Renesmee and the rest of the family. I set the box on the kitchen table, and waited until everyone was seated before opening it. I walked around the table, placing one felt figure before each of them. They all looked rather confused, but soon they were all laughing and pointing.

“This one looks like me!” Alice cried, holding up her doll.

“And you can so tell this one’s mine,” Emmett said. “Just look at the muscles!”

They were all dolls made to look like every character from my books. The only ones still without owners were the doll versions of Aro, Marcus, Caius and Jane of the Volturi, and James, Laurent, Victoria, Charlie and Jacob.

“Where did you find these?” Edward asked with a strange look. He held up his doll, a collection of felt cut outs hand sewn together, with button eyes and small white triangles for fangs.

“One of the girls at my book signing gave them to me. She gave me a card too – apparently she sells them online.” I held the card up and read it aloud. “Twilight Dolliez & Custom Creations; Bringing Stephenie Meyer’s vampires to life.

“That is so cool!” Alice screeched. “Look! She looks just like me!” She held up her doll, a tiny, skinny felt person with the same huge black buttons for eyes, with golden circles for irises, and spiky jet black hair. The doll had a whimsical expression to it, and Alice was right – it did look just like her.

The room was full of excited chatter as everyone compared their dolls with each others’. Carlisle’s had a little white lab coat and a silver circle on its forehead – the kind that the stereotypical doctors had. Esme’s had a light brown piece of felt for hair that even had little curls in it. Rosalie’s had a vain sort of expression, looking like it was rolling its eyes. Emmett’s must’ve had small wads of stuffing packed into the arms to look like muscles, and it even held a little felt weight in one hand. Jasper’s had all black clothing, and hair covering one eye with a small little frown. I guessed it was supposed to be “emo” and laughed as Jasper mimicked the expression perfectly. Renesmee’s was shorter than the rest, with crimson felt for hair and only one fang, instead of two like the others. Most of the other dolls had white tops and black bottoms, but hers had a little pink dress, and held a small felt teddy bear.

“I gotta say,” Emmett said with a laugh, “this is actually pretty creepy.”

“It’s not creepy!” Alice scolded. “It’s genius. Give me that card – I have to talk to this girl; she’s a prodigy!” In a flash, she snatched the card from my fingers and flitted over to the computer.

“Did she make one of you, Momma?” Renesmee asked, attempting to peer into the box. Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to me. I rifled around in the box, looking at the little paper tags on tied to each of the little arms to help me.

“I have two,” I wondered aloud, holding each in my hands. The tags read “Bella Swan” and “Bella Cullen”. “But why?”

“Human Bella, and vampire Bella,” Edward said, peering over my shoulder. He was right, I realized. The one marked Bella Swan had brown circles for irises, and a straight black piece of felt for a mouth. The one marked Bella Cullen and red circles for irises, and two white triangles for fangs.