This morning, in an effort to find that peace, I decided to write a love letter to my novel. I know, I know. This is painfully cheesy. But you guys, it worked. Instead of feeling like my manuscript is a burden standing in the way of my happiness, I have this seed of warm love for the story, almost like it’s my own child, held in my hands.
Usually after I write an ultra vulnerable post, admitting all the things I’m struggling with, I wake up with a vulnerability hangover. Not today. I feel relief, like breathing is a little easier.
I’m in this super deep funk right now where I can’t see up from down. Sure, I can blame COVID, but this has been going on since way before we knew what it was like to SIP for months on end. In an attempt to purge myself of every block standing in the way of my writing, I’m going to be ultra vulnerable here and spew my stuff in this blog post. Get comfy. This is long.
How are YOU doing? How are you holding up? What are you doing to care for yourself right now? What’s weighing on your mind?
A true tale of a recent lunch break encounter.
I had big plans six weeks ago when we were ordered to shelter in place....
An ode to the five kids who are bored to death next door.
I'm in my third semester of a creative writing class at my community college, which has been great for not only helping to improve my novel writing, but expanding the kinds of writing I'm doing. Poetry is one of these bonuses.
Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to fly? Here's a short story about it.
It's the fourth month of 2020, which is obviously the perfect time to share my writing goals for the year, right?
