Bali state of mind…


I was riding my bike the other day, listening to a Rob Bell podcast in which he was interviewing Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat. Pray. Love., among other books. I love Elizabeth Gilbert. I mean, I loved her when I read her book. In fact, I read her book at least 3 or 4 times. But now that social media exists, and she posts so many beautiful, inspirational things, I love her even more.

I also love Rob Bell. He’s got this way of sharing God with the world that makes people want what he is experiencing. He’s not preachy. He’s just all about love. And some of the things that come out of his mouth are so prolific. I mean, he’ll say something, and it will just make so much sense it seems like it’s a no-brainer. Except, it’s not a no-brainer until he addresses it in plain words, and then breaks it down even more.

The man is a genius.

So a podcast with both Elizabeth Gilbert and Rob Bell? Priceless – especially since, at the time the podcast was recorded, they were in the middle of a speaking tour with Oprah full of soulful stuff, and they were riding that wave high.

At any rate, there I was, riding my bike, and Liz (we’re on nickname basis) started talking about how people will come up to her and seek her permission to be able to do things. In her words, it’s like they’re looking for a principal’s note to quit the crappy part of their life and start living the part they’ve always dreamed of. Quit a dead-end job. Leave the abusive husband. Sell everything and travel across the world.

My mind wandered, and I was suddenly in Bali. Not really, but my heart was. Ever since I read Eat. Pray. Love., it’s been my dream to visit Bali and experience the peace that Liz experienced when she found herself there. Like Liz, I went through a soul crushing divorce. And then, even more crushing, were the messy romances that followed, and how I threw my  poor, tender heart into them when I had no place throwing that sensitive little thing anywhere.

But Bali… It was my answer. It was where I would find peace and love and serenity and answers and….

Well, not really. I realize this now. There’s no place you can go to find absolute peace. There’s no thing that can offer you absolute solace. Leaving your prick of a husband won’t give you peace. Quitting your job won’t give you peace. Selling everything and moving to Bali won’t give you peace.

But know how you can have peace? By focusing on the beauty around you. By remembering what fills your soul, and then surrounding yourself with more of that. By immersing yourself in friendship and love. By understanding that life is too short to put so much energy into the things that are killing you, and to, instead, put your energy into the things that give you life. By taking all those things you would like to do someday, and doing them today. Write that book. Take that dance class. Learn a new language. Travel to a foreign country. Exercise. Do yoga. Read more. Watch TV less. Stop and notice the world. Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile.

Back to riding my bike….

As Liz was speaking, and I was in a Bali state of mind, I realized that I was already in Bali. I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. The sunsets, as of late, have been absolutely breathtaking, and the light was casting this ethereal glow across the golden fields I was riding next to. During the day, these fields are just dingy side effects of the massive drought California is going through. But on this evening, they were truly fields of gold. And then, right next to them were pathways lined in green trees and draping leaves. People were out performing all kinds of activities in the summer heat, and were quick to greet me as I rode by. And my soul was so full of peace I was sure it was radiating out of my pores, through the spokes of my bicycle, and cascading in sparks all around me.

You guys, I was bleeding rainbows.

So yeah. I still want to go to Bali. I still dream of a time when stress is at a minimum and peace only grows by the moment. But I also know that Bali isn’t my absolute answer, and peace starts with me.

(VIDEO TEXT)

I want to go to Bali. This is what I tell my husband all the time. I want to go to Bali and stay in a little one room house in the jungle, one with open doors and windows and curtains that flow in the wind. I want to see all the townspeople and watch them, and then I want to go home and sit on the porch of my one room house and write about them. Most of all, I want to ride my bike all over Bali. I want be free in the wind, just using my pedals to get me anywhere I need to go.

I think the part I love most about my dream of riding my bike all over Bali is the thought of being totally free. Free from worry. Free from stress. Free from the things I don’t want to do, or have to do, or obligate myself to do. I don’t have to be anything for anyone.

If I were in Bali, I could just be me, riding the whole world on a little island.

But the truth is, Bali is here. The island might be halfway across the world, but the frame of mind exists within me.

I live in a little town called Petaluma. It has rolling hills, friendly people, and gorgeous sunsets. It also has bills and jobs and obligations and all the must-dos to make sure the can-dos happen. But on a gorgeous evening like this, I can still take my bike out and be free. Free from worry. Free from stress. Free from the things I don’t want to do, or have to do, or obligate myself to do. Not forever. But in the moment. Just for the moment. I am free in the moment.

I’m in Bali.

The ABCs of ‘Come Here, Cupcake’


The countdown is on for the release of Come Here, Cupcake! I still don’t have an exact release date, but I’m still aiming for some time in August. And yes, I am totally chomping at the bit—especially since I got to see a sketch of what the cover is going to look like!!! I won’t reveal all of it yet, but I can give you a tease…

cupcaketease

Just wait till you see the rest of it! To give you a better idea of how talented my cover artist is, here’s a link to her cool swag website.

At any rate, today I was working on the back cover copy for the book (which is harder than writing a whole entire book), and was hitting a wall. So I started brainstorming keywords that make up the basis of the novel, and came up with this list.

Here’s a taste of what Come Here, Cupcake is about:

A – Attitude
B – Bodega Bay
C – Cupcakes!!!
D – Dreams
E – Emotions
F – Fire!
G – Good friends
H – Happiness
I – Icing
J – Journey
K – Kisses
L – Lemon tartlets
M – Magic
N – Nautical
O – Obligations
P – Palm reading
Q – Questions
R – Romance
S – Sailor
T – Thor
U – Unsuspecting party guests
V – Visions
W – Whimsy
X – eXpasperation
Y – Yearning
Z – Zest

Staying Sane in a Crazy (Self-Publishing) World

Crissi Langwell:

There is so much good advice here, I have to reblog this post. It’s as much for me as it is for all my self-publishing friends out there.

Originally posted on David Gaughran:

IASG2 and FLOMHow do you keep yourself from going crazy? It probably helps if you are reasonably well-balanced in the first place, but, for the rest of you, I have some advice today from Susan Kaye Quinn.

As many of you will know, Susan is the author of the bestselling Mindjack series, and lots of other books too, including the highly regarded Indie Author Survival Guide – the second edition of which has just been released.

She’s also releasing a companion book for more experienced authors in mid-July which has the intriguing title of For Love Or Money: Crafting An Indie Author Career and it’s available now for pre-order.

Here’s Susan on how to stay sane in a crazy (self-publishing) world.

Susan Kaye Quinn:

I fight a war every day.

My adversaries are distraction, fatigue, and the demands of ordinary life. They include things I love (my husband and children) and…

View original 1,828 more words

The inconvenience of friendship

The hardest part about letting people in is that they now have an open door into your life.

I thought about this the other day as I entertained 4 out of the 5 kids who live next door. These kids are the loudest, most obnoxious kids in our whole neighborhood. They bicker constantly. One is whiny and instigates problems with her siblings. One is a bully to his younger siblings. One knows everything about everything. And one doesn’t speak a word because his siblings speak for him. These four kids range in age from 4 to 10, with an 18 m.o. brother at home, and are often left to their own devices – which usually is the reason for their bickering and screaming.

And I seriously adore these kids.

So when two of the kids playing outside asked if they could come over and hang out in my house, I said sure (after they asked their mom). I figured their mom could use a break. Besides, they were playing outside unsupervised, anyway. I settled these two in with some good old-fashioned TV babysitter while I worked on getting dinner for my family ready. And that’s when a knock sounded at my door. The oldest was there, wondering if he could hang out, too. A few minutes later, the last of the four kids showed up to hang out.

I’m pretty lucky having a house with just teenagers. I don’t have to entertain them at all. They can do that on their own while I do what needs to get done. I can cook dinner without kids underfoot. I can write when inspiration hits. I can get quiet time in the privacy of my bedroom without interruption. And when we all hang out, it feels like hanging out with friends instead of hanging out with kids.

Not so much with kids under 10. As I tried to make dinner, one girl wanted to know if she could help. I thought about how much her mommy would like me to let her help make a beer marinade for the chicken I was about to BBQ… Uh, no. Then she wanted food. So I made each of the kids a piece of toast with cream cheese on it. They polished that off. A few minutes later, the same little girl was hungry again. She wanted string cheese. But alas, we had none. She didn’t believe me, so she went searching for it in my fridge. She found the pepper jack cheese and wanted to try that. I wasn’t sure she’d like it. She insisted. She tried one bite, and then, with a screwed up face, threw the rest of the perfectly good slice away. The kids wanted to play with the dog, and did so by jumping around the dog and riling him up. Then they cried when he stepped on their foot, screamed if he licked them, and got scared when he started playing back. They wanted to watch TV, but the shows weren’t so entertaining.

They were bored and needed something to do. I needed to make dinner. How does anyone get anything done when they have kids???

Taz (14-year-old son) came home from baseball, and they immediately glommed on to him. He was his usual comedian self, and they ate it up. I took advantage of the moment and got the BBQ all set up to make dinner while my son entertained them by teasing them and being funny. In twenty minutes, these kids became convinced that my son was the coolest kid in the world. And I got twenty minutes to whip out a salad and put the chicken on the grill. He finally retreated to his room, having gotten his fill of kids. And now the kids were bored again. They jumped on the furniture, riled up the dog, squabbled with each other, and were hungry again.

That’s when Frizz (19-year-old stepson) came downstairs, an origami crown on his head and a bunch of square pieces of paper in his hand. He set to helping the kids make their own crowns. That’s all it took. The project captured all of their attention, and folding paper became way more interesting than the obnoxious show on TV. I finished making dinner, then sat in the living room to help with the kids’ crown creations. And I got to thinking, we are never getting rid of these kids. We showed them they can have fun at our house. And I’m unsure if that’s such a good thing. I mean, it’s great for the ego. These kids believe we’re the coolest neighbors ever. But they are now going to be knocking at my door constantly, wanting to be entertained. Say goodbye to every bit of peace and quiet I’ve earned after raising my kids into teenagers.

The hardest part about letting people in is that they now have an open door into your life.

This way of thinking goes way beyond a bunch of loud kids next door. It’s kind of how I’ve treated the world. I mean, it’s all great when you’re just having fun. I have no problem hanging out with a few friends now and then, sharing my life with people through social media, and chatting it up over text. But anything closer than that has become highly uncomfortable.

To let people in means losing control of how I want people to see me. They don’t get to just see the image I put forth. They are now able to see me as I really am – totally messy, completely vulnerable, and far from perfect. They’ll discover that I don’t know everything about everything, and even that I’m just a hack. They’ll discover that I’m not as nice as I pretend to be. They’ll discover the places where I’m lacking. Worst of all, if I let people in closer than arm’s length, I’ll truly care about their opinion of me. And if I actually care, then their opinion could crush me.

And then there’s the selfish part of me, the part that argues that friendship is inconvenient. If I let people in, they suddenly have access to the time I’ve carved out for myself to write, read, or even just be alone for awhile. By letting them in, I’m giving them permission to call me at any chance, even without a warning text to alert me they’re going to call! I’m giving them access to my calendar, filling in the spaces with their own agenda, perhaps even overlapping the calendar events already marked on the page. Letting one person in could lead to letting more people in as they invite their friends and family into my life, overcrowding my super simple way of living into a full blown party. Allowing friendship means being held accountable to my life and choices, losing the ability to sweep things under the carpet because there are now witnesses to my life. And the more friends I let in, the more eyes are on my mistakes and poor choices. Accepting friendship means that when they ask how I’m doing and I say fine, they won’t believe me because they’ll already know the truth.

But then there’s the other part of me, the part that WANTS all of that. This part is yearning for that inconvenience of friendship, for one or more people outside of my immediate family to care about what I’m doing and how I’m feeling, to celebrate with me when things are going great, and to let me know they’ve got my back when things aren’t. And this part wants to offer the same support back. This part believes that the inconvenience of friendship is actually not a bad thing; that the interruptions, intrusions and accountability in friendship could lead to an overabundance in happiness, love and security.

This part wants to go beyond just posting the neat, tidy parts of my life on social media, and instead, start living life out loud, open and honest, face to face. This part wants to ask how you’re doing, then really listen. This part wants to tell the truth about how I’m doing. This part wants to fill in the empty spaces of my calendar with meeting over coffee, tearing down my walls, opening locked doors, and inviting you in.

This part is tired of holding people at arm’s length.

So I find myself at this crossroads. If I keep the door closed, I remain safe in my comfort zone, my life uncomplicated, my time completely my own. By not relying on other people’s friendship, I escape the risk of being hurt or let down. By refusing people’s attempts to get to know me better, I also escape their rejection. But I also remain lonely outside of my family. I lose out on having an ally, a confidante, a friend in my corner. My doorbell will remain silent, which can seem like a good thing, but can also feel bad.

So it’s come to my attention that my insistence at protecting myself through closed doors is actually hurting me. It’s blocking others from reaching me and helping me overcome the hurdles in my life. And it’s blocking me from getting to know others who could use my help, as well.

But what if I let people in, and then regret it? What happens if I open my doors only to find I can’t close them if I need to? What if it’s just like letting a bunch of the neighbor kids come over to play, only to find out you can’t get rid of them?

What if friendship really is inconvenient? And what if it’s not?

Are you also someone who holds people at arm’s length? You probably already know if you are. But just in case, here are a few signs that you could be:

– You’re not fully engaged in the present moment. Your mind wanders to things you could say, write about, or even what you need to do next.

– You’re “too busy” to go out, ALWAYS. Or, you accept plans only to cancel them at the last minute.

– You pretend outwardly that everything is “fine,” even when you have stuff bursting inside of you.

– Your natural tendency is to avoid eye contact.

– Your social life is spent primarily online or through texting, and is rarely face-to face.

– You sugarcoat your life, only presenting the good stuff to others.

– You see social media as real life, and feel worse because everyone else has “perfect” lives (P.S. They’re only presenting the good stuff, too).

If you’re an arm’s length kind of person, what’s holding you back? What are you struggling with? And if you’re someone who leans more toward the social side, how have friendships been better for your life?

Running up that hill, and living to tell the tale

One minute into running, and all I can focus on is the fact that I have four minutes until I can finally walk again. It’s how I start, how I always start, treating each minute as a countdown to the next, unsure how I’m going to make it to each walk session, and lamenting the fact that I only have two minutes of walking until I have to run again.

Oh, Couch to 5K, how I love to hate you.

My daughter is with me, enduring these tiny moments of torture right alongside me. We’re both in Week 5 of the program, and it only took us 11 weeks to get here. And apparently she’s been training behind my back because she’s pulling out ahead of me while I’m struggling to keep putting one foot in front of another.

Five minutes. Funny how an unchanging amount of time can mean so many different things. Five minutes until I have to leave for work, and time moves at warp speed. But five minutes of running? It’s at least a week long. I keep looking at the phone in my hand that’s counting down the moments until I can stop running. Two and a half minutes left. I slug on, trying to keep up with my athlete of a daughter. I vow not to look at my phone again until I’m close to the end. Focusing on a point that feels two and a half minutes away, I keep going, sure that my legs will probably fall off before then. When I reach that point, I look at my phone again.

Two minutes left.

I think my phone is broken. But I keep going. I imagine all those runners I’ve seen while driving my car, the ones who have this look of serenity on their face as if this is their preferred mode of travel. I wonder if I look like that, too. I focus on keeping my face as calm as possible, as if I’m totally feeling zen about this whole running thing. I’m not sure how well it’s working when all I can chant is Kill me now.

The buzzer on my phone dings, and we’re both walking again. There’s a triumph in this moment. We did it! We survived the first five minutes! Now we get a blissful two minutes of walking.

Wait. What? It’s time to run again? How could that have been two minutes?

The next run is only four minutes long, which offers me a little bit of peace. But not much. My legs remind me with each step that I’m not a runner, that sitting is my favorite, that writers don’t run, that I’ll never be as fast as my daughter who I’m struggling to keep up with. Four minutes. Then three. Then two. Finally one. I focus on my breathing. Two steps, one breath in. Two steps, one breath out. I’m sure the whole neighborhood can hear my wheezing. The seconds pass by slowly, but we finally make it to walking once again.

We are halfway done.

Once again, the two minutes of walk time lasts for only a couple seconds before we’re running again. Except…this time, it’s different. My body submits to this whole running thing. In fact, it seems I’m enjoying this. Nothing hurts. I could actually keep going if I wanted to. Five minutes comes and goes, then two minutes of walking, and then the final four minutes.

“Keep going,” I encourage my daughter, even though she was the one who was running like a gazelle just ten minutes earlier. We’re in our final stretch, the last four minutes of running until we can cool down and relax at home. Just four minutes. And I’m suddenly a runner. I can do this. I am doing this. I like running. The last minute begins its countdown and the finish line is in view. Thirty seconds left. Then fifteen. Five. One.

DONE.

The walk back home is sweet. I feel strong, like I just ran a marathon. Nevermind that it was only a run walk for 2.6 miles. Nevermind that the majority of runners can race circles around me, including my stepson who can run a mile in five minutes. Doesn’t matter. I ran. And I survived.

This week, I was the featured writer over at Writing and Wellness, a blog that shares tips on staying healthy and active, even when a creative lifestyle is mostly sedentary. In an interview with Colleen M. Story, I talked about my running routine, how yoga helps to balance me, what motivates me to eat better, and even a few writing tips, like how to keep a thick skin through criticism. You can check it out HERE.

Do you struggle with exercise, too? Have you found ways to make it fun? How do you fight against the urge to lay around in favor of getting up and moving your behind? ;-)

The cutest cupcake chapter headers ever!

Today I’m working on the last bit of cleanup for Come Here, Cupcake before I send it off to my editor. And while all formatting work will have to wait until it’s done being edited, I couldn’t help but start working on the chapter headers. You guys, these are so adorable, I just want to eat them off the page! :-D Here it is, with a tiny, tiny teaser of Chapter 1:

chapter teaser
I mean, seriously, how cute are those cupcake headers? <3

By the way, I’ve recently started a new business that’s so new, I’m still trying to figure out its permanent name. I’m offering my services for super cheap on things like book formatting, editing, website creation, social media setup, and more. You could be one of my first clients and take advantage of super low pricing! For more information, CLICK HERE.

A story about a girl who let fear keep her from blogging.

Let me tell you a story. It’s about a girl who grew so afraid of what people might think of her, she became paralyzed in that fear.

It starts with a back story.

This girl was born to be a storyteller, stemming from an early love of reading. It began with stories read to her in her mother’s lap, graduated to recognized words on the milk carton, and finally came to fruition when she read the book, Jack and the Beanstalk, to her preschool teacher. At just 4 years old, this girl was a reader! And two years later, upon learning to write, she realized she could create stories, as well. At night when she went to bed, she entertained her sister in their shared bedroom with made-up bedtime stories using a flashlight and shadow puppets. At birthdays and holidays, her gifts of stories were always highly anticipated. And she swore that one day when she was grown, her career would encompass her love of words and storytelling.

Fast forward a dozen or so years, and life continued to happen. But the path this girl was on twisted and turned in directions she hadn’t anticipated. Never being one to make risky moves, she allowed this path to take her from her dreams. It ended up being the riskiest move of all. While her goal had been to remain in her comfort zone, her path, instead, brought her into unfamiliar places and moments of danger and despair. It came time for her to decide – refrain from making a change and lose herself in the process, or make an uncomfortable bold move and try to find the person she lost.

She chose the latter, leaving her to raise two young kids on her own when she left a suffocating, abusive marriage.

It would take a year before this girl was able to drag herself off the couch. It took a few more for her to feel even remotely human. And eventually, with the love and support of her family, she was back out in the world on her own, caring for her kids the best way she could, and surviving life as a single mother, flaws and all.

It was during this time that this girl rediscovered her writing voice. It started with just writing. Then it was telling personal tales to amuse her friends. Eventually it migrated into a blog she called Wine Country Mom. The title was a little tongue-in-cheek, as she was definitely a mom in the heart of the Wine Country, but she was hardly living the Wine County lifestyle. There were some weeks she wasn’t sure the food in her household would last to the end of the week. And if it weren’t for her generous parents’ endless supply of TP, bathroom time would be plenty awkward. But there were many good times in this poor season of life, and countless moments of laughter, as well. This girl wrote about all of that – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Through her writing, she made friends with people who could relate to her triumphs and sorrows.

This new community of readers weren’t the only people who noticed. The local newspaper, where this girl now worked in the ad department, caught wind of this girl’s blog. And because they loved it, they offered this girl an even larger platform to share her stories. Naturally, this girl said yes.

In the following years, this girl continued to share her stories, now with a larger audience. She wrote about life as a single mother, parenting tips she’d learned along the way, her budding romance with a new man (who would one day be her husband), and the transition her life took from single parenthood into blended family. She remained perfectly candid, a virtue that drew her audience in as she admitted imperfections, as well as the beautiful parts of her family despite their many flaws. She remained real, vulnerable, completely raw. There were times she’d hesitate before pushing that publish button, then hold her breath when she inevitably did. It was a terrifying and exhilarating feeling to bare so much of her soul. And much of the feedback she received was from people who were certain they were the only ones who’d ever experienced what she had written about, and found a soul sister in this girl through the truth she’d unveiled.

But not everyone loved this girl’s brave sharing.

Ever hear of trolls? These are little creatures with wrinkled souls who hide under the bridges of blogs as they wait for their next victim. Their main objective is to ensure no one feels too good about themselves. They plant the seed of hate, then entice people to water it through conversation. Their biggest tool is to write things so hateful, it’s almost impossible to ignore. But once you respond to a troll, you lose power. And the troll? They only grow stronger.

When your platform consists of the same people who read the newspaper, the trolls are aplenty (and if you’ve ever read the comments on any article on any newspaper, you know what I mean).

Among the lovely people who offered lovely words to any of this girl’s blog articles, there were also ugly-souled people who attacked her choice to leave her abusive husband and become a single mother, her blossoming romance with a new man while she was supposed to be caring for her kids, and anything else they could find fault with in the words she chose to share about her personal life. This girl remained strong, though all of these words stung. It was like the trolls had discovered all of her inner thoughts and fears, and were now laying them out in the comments of her blogs for the world to digest. Each comment inflicted pain, but she strengthened her armor and kept going. However, when the trolls turned their comments toward this girl’s children, she pulled the plug to her blog. The girl removed her blog from the newspaper and said goodbye to the audience she had built. Then she began blogging in a much more private arena. No one knew her. No one commented. No one said mean things, nice things…anything.

But this was just fine with the girl. It allowed her that perfect break to come back to center and figure out what exactly she wanted to share with the world. With her kids now in their teen years, it was no longer appropriate to write about them on a family blog. It seemed Wine Country Mom had run its course.

Meanwhile, this girl had tackled a new arena of writing – the almighty novel. She set up a website as she put forth her new novel, complete with a brand new blog. But with this blog, the girl found herself in unfamiliar territory. What the heck did she write about? She’d spent so long writing about her life as a mother, that writing about her life as a writer felt foreign and strange. She had no audience, no one who was familiar with her work, no one to talk to at all through this blog. She began writing about her book, but that got old fast. She felt uninteresting. So she began writing about writing itself, specifically in terms of books. But she felt like a fraud because she was still figuring this stuff out, herself.

The blog soon felt like an albatross. She was reading so many tips on keeping an author blog that she started to feel like everything she wrote in her blog was all wrong. Soon, she lost her reason for even wanting to keep a blog at all. It wasn’t about baring pieces of her soul anymore, it was about how to get attention. It all felt fake and contrived. It felt like work. And when January of this year hit, this girl stopped writing in her blog altogether.

Me and my Mr. Wonderful.

Me and my Mr. Wonderful. I think we both had mouthfuls of food when this picture was taken.

This girl, of course, being ME.
So here I am, having ignored this blog because I’m afraid I have nothing to say, or that I’m boring people with the bits and pieces of my life, or that I might give you the wrong idea if I have an opinion on anything, or that I might get too personal, or I might not be personal enough. I’m afraid someone I know will read this blog and wonder who the heck I think I am trying to fool. I’m afraid someone I don’t know will read this and wonder how someone who thinks the way I think or writes the way I write or likes the things I like ever thought she could actually write a book and sell it. I’m afraid I’ll break some cardinal rule of author blogs by oversharing or undersharing or writing against my genre or being too opinionated or wishy-washy or attracting the wrong people or not being witty enough….

Omg. It’s just too much! I’m done with being paralyzed. I’m done with thinking there’s someone I’m supposed to be or something specific I’m supposed to write about. I’m done with thinking I need to be writing to a certain group of people or write a certain way when all I can do is be myself and write the way I write.

The end!

So from this day forward, I declare this a themeless blog. If I want to write about books, I’ll write about books. If I was to write about faith, I will write about faith. If I want to write about life, especially the messy parts, you’re damn straight I’ll be writing about life. If I want to write about love, family, my dog, how much I hate cleaning, what I had for dinner, my favorite TV obsession, an author I’m crushing on (Hi Colleen Hoover!), or anything else, I’m just going to throw it up here on the pages.

You all right with that? Doesn’t matter. ;-)

Let’s just be real, k?