Category Archives: writing




This is not where she was supposed to be.


There was no where else to go.


She kept moving forward.


Her heart pounded in her ears.


She had been abandoned.


She could barely breath.


She dared the pain.


She let a grin escape her lips.


She would take it on.


What If

I’ve been thinking a lot lately.  That’s the kind of thing that happens while you sit at your desk, knitting until your fingers and wrists go numb, watching millions of images load ever so slowly on your dino-dial-ups for Pintrest.  There’s been topics fluttering in my mind, words to mash out on this blank screen… but knitting doesn’t work well with typing.  You loose your count and your train of thought all at one time.  Trust me.

And it’s hard to work on this, when you need to work on that.  Priorities wrestle with wants.  Needs fling mud at desires.  Options and choices wrestle in the jello pit that once was a functional brain.  Everything fights you, time, budgets, noises, small people wanting things.

It’s like the first time I looked into selling handmade goods on Etsy, they say, “Choose one medium”.  Choose one.  Like that’s possible for me.  I can knit, crochet, draw, paint, sew, quill, carve, stamp, shape… not that I have valuable skills in every form, but choosing one is like asking me if I want to keep my right or my left leg… um, all please?

I want to do it all, because what if I choose the wrong one?  My hobby is hobbies.  But I want one to be mine.  Or at least three.  Maybe four.  My hard limit is at nine, honestly.

And somehow this all links back to writing.  What if.  I mean really, what if?  What if while I’m busy training dogs (or not so busy, thank you economy), and knitting my fingers off to pay the bills, supporting my writer friends, promoting them, blogging about nothing, chasing kids, trying to make a garden/homestead on a rock bed, pretending I know how to sing for the fake band… What if, deep in my computer’s files, laying in wait, is the next big thing.  And in my interview with Ellen (because Oprah erks me to no end) she asks how long it took me to write this book, that instantly sold out, and the movie rights were bought before it was even published… I have to say, twenty years.  And I have to admit that for 19 of those years it was sitting there in my computer’s memory, because I was too friggen scared/hard on myself to even try.  And she’s going to laugh and call me cute, while holding up one of my washcloths and make some cute joke about loving Jesus and drinking beer.

Okay so I doubt that’s how anything would unfold.  But what if?

But where’s the time?  And where the frick, is the confidence?  Because all I know is that them washcloths will not make themselves.  And sitting here, typing about what if’s does not pay the bills.

*pours more coffee*

A Monday Ramble

There’s some very good benefits to giving up on the whole “real writing” deal.

Like stats, I can finally give up on checking the dang stats every time I publish a new post here.  Sure I still look, but it’s easier to shrug them off now.  Also, it’s a tad bit easier to pull something out of nothing for NaBloPoMo, I’ve lost the worry over “What will Blogher want to see?”  and “What will they feature, or better yet Syndicate?”  And there’s the daunting, “Oh my gawd, people will see that post and think I’m crazy for even thinking I could be a writer!”  Lost that one too.

I needed a huge dose of “I don’t care” a very long time ago.  Because I always cared, always, and I cared too much.

Which is a confusing mix of inner voices, because all the time when I was striving for this goal or that, letting my feelings get tied into who did what, and why not me… the whole time I was battling whether or not any of it was even the path for me.  Mental punishment for both trying and for not trying hard enough.

Now I get to sick back and laugh at it all.  And it feels good.  I don’t have to care anymore.  I can just enjoy putting words out into the interwebs… or not.

Granted, quitting something before you even really step out and try it on, probably isn’t the best “Go me” moment.   Because when you get down to it, blogging and writing, are a whole heap of sameness, yet couldn’t be further apart.  There’s such safety hiding behind little blurbs of thoughts, but writing, as in sending your works out to someone specifically, waiting for them, hoping they choose you… yeah.

Maybe one day I won’t be able to hold back those little voices in my head who want to walk down the aisle of a bookstore and see my name sitting on the shelf.  But for now, I’m happy to be free from them.

Writer’s Block

*sips one cup of coffee*

*sips two*

*Types two words, deletes two words.*

*Scans facebook, clicks back over, refills coffee.*


*sips more coffee, chugs coffee*

*types one word, deletes*

*braids hair, unbraids hair*

*almost types another word, rethinks, refills coffee*

*gazes out window*

*twirls a strand of hair*

*looks at clock*

I’m trying folks.  😉

NaNoWriMo ~ Because I Know.

It’s almost that time of year.  Okay so, technically, NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month which you can find at ) doesn’t start until November 1st at 12am (and yes the time IS important), but now is the time to prepare.

Because this is serious stuff.

First for those who think I’m talking jibberish, NaNoWriMo is a orginization dedicated to raising money for national reading programs all geared to our youth.  Once a year they sponsor/poke/prod a huge national writing contest, where in we lose our minds and try to write a 50,000 word novel in under thirty days. 

So what’s the prize?  A brand new spanking novel in desperate need of editing, a printable certificate and spiffy little icon thingys you can paste everywhere.  (I have four of them ;p)  Oh, and knowing that you’re helping our wee ones read things BEYOND text messages. 


Rules?  You must sign up for a NaNo account, sooner is always better than later, but you can’t post novel info until November 1st, and honestly, don’t try to log in on that day, the site will be going bonkers.  You must submit your entire manuscript (no one reads it, and they can encrypt it too, if you are worried) for a offical word count before December 1st.  Other than that you can write anything, have your characters stutter for pages, and insert as many flashbacks as your little heart wants to.  It’s all on an honor system.

There are bonuses as well.  There are lots of promotions, offers, groups to join, write-ins and more.

So what should you be doing now?  That’s up to you.  Obviously you should go sign up, maybe donate some money, browse the site for tips, groups and info.  I like to have an idea of what I’m going to be writing way ahead of time.  This is the time when (if I’m going to do it this year, I have yet to decide) I develop a sketchy plot map.  I never follow it, but it’s nice to give yourself a wee bit of a boost.  Also I try to get to know my characters ahead of time, so their voices are about killing me before that first day. 

If I join in this year I already know my towns, the main conflict, one side conflict and all of my characters… and yes I may have issues.  ;p 

The point isn’t to actually write a book, or to get it published (because then I’d have four published books), but just to get out there and to get writing.

Are you in?

Have any questions?  (because we know I’m very helpful)

Big Old Bag of Nada

Here’s a big surprise for you…

I got nuttin.

Zip, zilch, zero, nada and all the like.  The big bag of ideas has been emptied, and even the lint has run dry. 

Yes, I know, it happens.  Keep writing and the ideas will return.  *rolls eyes*  I’m an expert at this whole big mountain of nothing.  But too, I’m lazy, and I have things to do and a bucket of paint that won’t make a mess of its self.

I want your ideas, even if you don’t have any.  Wanna guest post?  Great!  Wanna ask me five million questions?  Awesome.  Want me to share more of the book?  NOPE.  Fat chance.  Nice try.  Have an odd short story idea that you’re dying for me to butcher and manipulate?  I’ll take it!  Just shoot me an email with your ideas… please… soon……… h.e.l.p.



There’s that moment in time when you let someone into your secret private world in your head, the one you’ve devoted every inch of your being too, the first time you share your work, and you wait.  You cringe, and try to hide, you fight back the urge to snap the work back away from them, to take all the words back.  You want to shrink and hide away, afraid of what they might think.

Afterall, you’re a normal average person.  A mother, a cook, a home keeper and animal wrangler… you live an average life.  This world on the paper, the world you have created, is far from average.  They are going to think that you are all sorts of crazy!

I mean sure, the plot sounds good inside your head, you’d read it, you’d watch it unfold on a big screen… but what if it’s too creative, too crazy, too out there?  And then, what if, just what if, not only you have dreamt up a crazy world that makes little sense, what if you wrote it badly?! 

Next you find yourself feeling sorry for the poor sap that has to read your pile of craziness because how are they going to face you ever again!?  Your gut is turning and wrenching as you wait for them to look up…

Maybe it’s not too late to run away…

Maybe you can blame the many side effects of the cold medicine…

If only you could get off the damn rollercoaster of excitement, embarrassment, and evil inner editors…

And you’re not running because you really do want to know what they think.  But then again you wonder if they’d even tell you the truth, and you’re really wishing you could teleport to one of those stupid daytime talk shows that have an ever waiting lie detector sitting in the green room.  And then your thoughts float to what the mother of what’s her name who wrote 50 Shades of Grey thought when she read her books.  And then you remember someone is reading your words RIGHT NOW…

(I’m thinking that cold medicine and a pot of coffee do not mix well.  This cold best go away soon!)


Just Another Monday Morning

Monday always seems to need a brand spanking new post.  And this is problematic for me.  I don’t do interwebs on the weekend, not unless I’m expecting an email sending me the next chapter for a book someone is being cruel enough to only let me see bits and pieces at a time!  But I digress.  Monday morning has me drinking tons of coffee and trying to catch up with everyone and everything… while trying to come up with a post.  Because I have to. 

Even when I have nothing to say.

And my husband would crack up at the thought of me having nothing to say.  Because apparently when you have a cold and spend all weekend in the sun building a 5 million piece swing set, and practicing Pat Benatar songs for the fake band… you WILL loose your voice, but not your sniffles.  And just so you know, when one has a bad sneeze inducing cold, one should always put a lid on your adult beverage orrrrr your garage floor will get sticky and you will run out of said beverages.

But like I said, I really have nothing to write.  Nada. 

Which seems to be a problem lately for me.   Because I don’t want to talk about writing or editing.  Or of balance and schedules, or things that make you want to invest in Kleenex.  And I absolutely detest writing about nothing. 

I want to blame the editing and the excitement of ideas floating in my head eating up my blogging thoughts.  I also want to blame my right ear that is so clogged it sounds like I have half of my head stuck in a sea shell.  I’d also like to blame the teething, non napping, terrible two’s toddler who thinks mommy enjoys scrubbing milk off of the floor. 

Yet blaming does not inspire.  It’s just the way things are.  The brain gets clogged and life gets busy.  There are songs to sing and slides to build.  And the point of writing is WRITING.  Even if it’s not all fancy, even if it won’t win awards or get me a check in the mail.  Even if it’s all been written before.

After all it’s just something I have to do.

(Unlike breathing, apparently colds don’t believe breathing is a necessary function for life.  *cough cough sniffle sneeze*)

~Without You~

Thirty pages, that’s how much I have left until I’m officially done with my first edits and rewrite. Just thirty pages to go before I get to send off my baby to school and teach it grammar and punctuation. 

Unlike my real children I can’t wait to see it go.

I’m tired of coddling, and nurturing it’s whiney little arse, and I’m ready to see it all grown up and in the real world.  I love it, I do, and I’m giving it my all… but I’m ready to shove it out of the nest and watch it fly… or crash onto the concrete with a thud and a splatter.  Either or, it’s getting close to the time where it must sink or swim.  And I think that’s a good thing.  Knowing it’s almost ready, knowing it’s time to release it from my hard drive.

And my mind is constantly thinking, “What’s next after this?”  And I know the gun hasn’t even sounded and I’m off past the first marker, or just off my rocker.  But there’s other ideas and needs and wants, clawing inside their shells.  Other paths I want to try… and it’s all hopped up on sugar and caffeine and keeping me up at night.  Each potential avenue and thought dancing around waiting for Santa to arrive.

And I want and I want and I want…

So it’s baby steps of torture, and calling myself off of the chase before I dive off of the cliff head first.  Big breaths and little steps, but allowing the dreams to slam down one more pixie stick before bed.

And it’s about giving thanks to all of you.  With the kind comments and constant encouragement, feeding the monster in my head, the monster that keeps the inner voices at bay, the ones that try to get me to quit it all.  Without you all, the casual readers, the faithful commenters, my friends, I’d still be on page one, afraid to peek around the corner.

Thank you.


Don’t forget to sign up for the GIVEAWAY!

Don’t Say I Never Gave You Anything

There’s been a few complaints, eh demands… fine requests to hear a synopsis on the novel I’ve been working on for years.  (okay well, it hasn’t been years of work, just years since it’s start date and today)  I’m not big on sharing, if you haven’t yet figure that out, because I have nightmares of people running away with my work and publishers turning their noses up at me because too much has been posted online.  So this is it, your last glimpse of my novel, until it becomes published in the next fifty years or until I give up and self publish it… either or.  And please note, this is just a glimpse for you, this is not in any way a finished product or what I’ll be sending off to agents in my query letters hopefully starting next month. 

Here’s your Synopsis for Denali:

Vacations are supposed to be the get-away from it all, stress relief, time of our lives. That’s all that Carly and Scott wanted, a break from their everyday lives. Years of saving and planning led them to a backpacking adventure on the side of Denali in Alaska. Two weeks of hiking, fishing, archery and campfires. Two weeks of escape from everyday lives. But two days into their vacation all they wanted to do was to escape back home, far away from that mountain. As animals started turning up dead, and their campsite ransacked, they knew this wasn’t the vacation they had dreamed of.   And then members of their group start to disappear… And when the group leader turns up dead, all blood drained from his body, they knew the great mountain was hiding a secret, a secret that was hunting them down one by one…

And one last snippet:

I finished up as quick as possible and was struggling to get the gun to stay put in the band of my pants when a loud crash sounded just feet away from me. I bit my tongue to keep my mouth from making a sound, and hunched down against a large tree next to me, carefully gripping onto the pistol.

Two Shadows emerged in the darkness. Human figures, defiantly not wolves. My heart instantly slowed down, people, just people. Maybe even Susan and Gregory! My insides swelled with hope, and my grip relaxed on the gun. But why were they being so quiet, out here in the trees? The camp is just right there, what are they doing here?

Before I could make a sound the skies opened up, and released a threating bolt of lightning. Just enough light, for just long enough to crush every single hope I had of making it back home.

Two male figures stood just 20 feet away from me. I couldn’t make out more than profiles in the darkness, but the way they stood, the way they moved. Every inch of my core told me that these men were not the kind you run to for help. The hairs standing at ends on my body told me these were the type of men you run far, far away from, as fast you can.

I took a slow deep breath, trying to keep my body from trembling. The rain was falling harder, and I was beginning to panic beyond control. I squeezed the handle of the gun as tight as humanly possible, trying to displace the tension from my body to the metal object. The men were still just standing there, not talking, not moving, just… sniffing the air? My mind got lost in the image I was seeing, who sniffs the air? What the hell are they doing? What are they trying to smell out here?”

Enjoy!  And don’t say I never gave you anything!  lol.  Now back to editing.  And don’t forget to enter my GIVEAWAY!