Devin Febbroriello thumb

Devin Febbroriello, OR

Senior Writer

Originally from Connecticut, Devin has been in love with the arts, creativity, and storytelling since childhood, when you were likely to find her deep in the woods building a secret fort, organizing a three act play, or choreographing a dance number to perform for the neighborhood! After studying filmmaking in Boston and the Czech Republic, she worked in feature films and TV Shows for over a decade in NYC. Sensitive and intoxicated by the subtle details of the world, Devin has learned to channel her empathetic observations into screenplays, poems, short stories, and her first novel.

As a Story Terrace writer, Devin interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below.

I Believe in Magic

I believe in magic. Not like witches, potions, and cauldrons. More like – how on earth did everything line up to make this moment happen? I can’t say for certain that I know how this magic works, or when it will strike next. But, I put my faith in its power because it’s never ceased to amaze and transform me.

This is the story of the first time I saw magic.

There was nothing more I wanted in life than a kitten. Not just a kitten, but MY kitten. Understandably, I was met with a great deal of resistance from my mother who had a hunch that an eight-year-old may not be able to take on the full brunt of the duties required for its care.

My bestfriends growing up were two twin boys who lived only a bike ride away at the end of a lovely cul de sac in rural Connecticut. I spent much of my youth tearing through the neighborhood and local forests with them. One summer, their family began work on their old colonial home. The project would take months and required a whole team of carpenters, contractors, and construction equipment to complete.

A large dumpster was hauled onto their property to dispose of the materials that fell from the building. On the day the dumpster was delivered, I happened to be riding my light purple Schwinn ten speed up the driveway. Noticing a small group of adults in discussion next to the dumpster, I went over to investigate. My friend’s mother greeted me with the most delightful surprise: the construction company had discovered a young black cat living inside the dumpster. No one knew how long it had been there, but they all agreed it was stray and looked female. I was immediately smitten.

My friends and I ran into the house to get milk, cheese, and whatever other comforts we thought our lost friend might enjoy. We gathered around trying to comfort and nourish her, while the adults discussed what to do. They decided to let her stay in the dumpster for the night and search for a family to adopt her in the morning. We made a tiny bed out of blankets and left out treats and water for the evening ahead. Though she didn’t fit my criteria of a tiny kitten, I hoped that my mother might consider adoption.

I lovingly named her “Olive” before saying good night and heading back to my house.

I took the path that cut through the woods between our homes. It was thick and overgrown with summer flora. Halfway down the path, I heard a rustling noise in the bramble. I paused to look back and was shocked to see that Olive was following me! My heart nearly burst from my chest with joy! I knelt down and gently beckoned her out the brush. Coy and cautious she slinked up to my hand, and began to purr as I scratched behind her ears.

By the time I reached my yard I felt pretty confident that my mother would understand that we simply must adopt Olive because the cat had chosen me, and not the other way around. I knocked on the front door and stood proudly with Olive by my side. My mother answered the door, and I immediately launched into a pitch for why we must, must, must adopt this cat, and, through some kind of miracle, or, at the very least total exhaustion over this whole “my daughter’s obsessed with cats” thing, my mother agreed!

My dreams had finally come true. She may not have been a tiny kitten, but she was good enough for me.

Two months later, Olive suddenly vanished.

I searched the house from top to bottom. I posted fliers at the country store. I screamed her name from the back porch until my throat was hoarse and dry. I could barely sleep or eat.

But just when I’d started to lose hope my mother came shrieking from her bedroom with an unbelievable discovery.

Olive had not vanished at all! Quite the contrary!

She had nestled herself into a deep recess of my mother’s closet, into a basket with old quilts and had quietly birthed five kittens.

Five kittens! Five kittens in a basket in a closet, in MY house!

Needless to say, I was ecstatic.

And for the first time in my life, I started to believe in magic.

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Get in touch today to work with Devin!