“I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am…
This business about “If you write, you’re a writer” is off-putting. No one ever says, “If you nurse someone back from a cold, you’re a nurse,” or “If you can spout the law, you’re a lawyer.” I get that the phrase is meant to encourage aspiring writers or maybe even seasoned ones who missed a word count or are…
If I were a man, I wouldn’t lie. I might let little ones slip here and there, but not the big ones. The big lies change everything; they cause irreparable damage. I’d know that. As a man, I would take responsibility for my actions, even if, along the way, I had become someone who mocked…
I finished STAY almost two years ago, and in the middle of writing my next book, I lost the love. Some call it burnout, but I write romance, so lost love is more accurate. It’s not that I couldn’t write; I was still capable. I just didn’t want to. I wasn’t excited to sit down…
If I were eleven, I would smell like sweat and sunscreen. I would live in a neighborhood with a windy road and a hill so I could ride my bike, the blue one with the peeling sticker, and never get bored. My bike would have a broken kickstand. I’d have to lay it near the…
I have this gorgeous journal. The pages are soft and a lovely shade of ivory. The cover is patched together textiles and embroidered seams. There is a pocket in the front to tuck treasures and inspiration. If I could dream up a journal, this one would be the one. I have a beautiful fountain tip…
I have reached this interesting place where I’m not willing to share all of myself. That may be because I am working on things that can get ugly, or I’m simply changing. Whatever the reason, more of my writing ends up in a notebook or a journal these days than online. It’s not that what…
The maintenance guy thinks I’m a serial killer. We’ve had some issues with our smoke detectors going off at random intervals, and the joys of apartment life allow for a quick email to the maintenance department. A lovely man arrived yesterday. He changed some batteries. I stood with him under the alarm near my office…
I can’t write about cancer or surgeries or recovery or healing. Not because it’s too soon or I’m sad. I wrote a post about what I’ve been through and how it sucked and promptly deleted it. I can’t remember the last time I deleted a blog post, but God the thing was long and boring,…
