I AM WRITING

Somebody knocked in my soul, Fever or forgotten wings, And I made my own way, deciphering that fire, And I wrote the first, faint line, Faint, without substance, pure Nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open.

There's a fly in my office It keeps circling my head I got out the fly swatter So I can whack it instead. Right after I got back in my office I just kept swinging Whichever way I can Just to see if I can get lucky and strike it somehow. It made me think of a metaphor  Of my writing style My focus and my goal I just get started and just get working. I didn't get the fly And perhaps I'm being hard on myself But sometimes I feel like I'm wandering aimlessly Just like I did when swatting at the fly Just hoping to get lucky. ...and of all the things I can write about I choose this. All of the writing coaches Say "just write" Get in the habit of writing. I get so bogged down in perfecting it. I miss out on writing. Here's a start... I didn't get the fly But I know that it will eventually stop I will eventually get my goal of being a published author. Being a perfectionist Makes me th...

When I feel stuck and need to get organized, I just need to click on this-- Writing Fiction

I thought of suicide for the first time when I was 19 years-old. I was a Senior in college, but something happened to me that my community would harshly judge. I fell in a deep dark hole of shame, guilt, and despair. I already know everything they would say. I knew because I thought it before I started falling. I knew because I know them. I was taught to think like them. I was utterly alone. Alone in a hallway with so many doors and when I approached to open it, it said, “Don’t Exit.” I thought, “I’m not exiting I’m entering,” but the sign changed in neon flashing lights and said, “Don’t Enter.” I fell on the ground. Defeated. The only door I can now see says, “suicide.” I started planning how to open that door. Once the door is opened, it’s over. No cry for help, nothing like that. My mind was working so hard through my tears. Looking at scenario after scenario. I worked on top of a mountain for a church summer camp. I was one of the camp counselors. The zigzaggin...

“If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” That's a quote from Steve Jobs. The answer is a resounding "yes!" It is the first of July, 2017. I embarked on my writing career "full-time" in January 2016. Since then, I've moved residences. Had a couple custody battles. My son had Selective Dorsal Rhizotomy in St. Louis Missouri and my husband had his third open heart surgery at Vanderbilt Hospital. It hasn't been dull. It's been too busy, in fact. Finding the discipline to keep at my writing with all of my life happening around me is quite a struggle. But I promise I will get there. I will write like a ninja. I will guard my time.

Wait, is it still morning? Yes, it is. I have 4 minutes till morning is over. When I wake up every morning what nags at me is my asthma. Yes, it really sucks when you suck at breathing. So I get up to use the bathroom and then take my Breo and my Spiriva. And if it still feels like my chest is hurting I go ahead and take two puffs of my rescue inhaler. My daughter usually gets up when I get up. She has not left my bed yet. But that’s okay. I go to the kitchen to pour two mugs of coffee from the carafe which my husband lovingly programmed the night before. Make sure the temperature is right so I don’t burn my tongue which I have done a lot in the past. Bring him one to his bedside then go to my office to try to get through 1500+ emails (which I never get through, that’s why it stay in the thousands). Eventually, my daughter will scream “I’m hungry.” I guess something she never shed after weaning (you see that’s the gift of breastfeeding, all you have to do is pick her up, put...