As I continue to wade through the fun parts of my WIP (and while my previously finished novel remains on submission), I thought it would be fun to share a little snippet of what I’m currently working on.
Month: February 2020
It’s Friday, duh. The last day of the work-week. Good times ahead! (I talk like a pirate now). Today is always the only day we have. Want to start or keep working out? Want to start or keep working on your dream project? Want to keep being productive? There is only ever today to do
I don’t like it. I don’t care what other people say, how many authors tell you that research can be fun, how many people tell you that, “If you’re writing a book on a topic you love, the research should be interesting!” Research. Is. Not. For. Me.
The Deceit of Ever After “The savior of the realm? You really knew him?” The King’s small smile held those happy memories that had slipped unseen into sorrow, victims of time’s sad magic. “He saved my life. We rode together for years, on an epic quest to liberate the kingdom.” “What was he like?” A
The Choice Is Ever Yours Jessie should have left a long time ago. It was almost closing time in the cafe. Beyond the window, the black wings of night had fully unfurled, blanketing the neighborhood into shadowy obscurity. Half the coffee shop’s lights no longer buzzed with electricity, and the bitter smell of brewing grounds
“A book is a dream that you hold in your hands.” – Neil Gaiman. The perfect way to kick off the week feeling inspired and full of wonder – words from Neil Gaiman never disappoint! Starting my Monday off with a lot of dreams and some good energy. Early morning exercise -> Journaling -> Blog
Okay, hear me out. As I spend this Sunday preparing – along with 100 million other people – to watch the 2020 NFL Super Bowl, all the newscasts are celebrating how hard the coaches, staff, and players have worked to get to this point. The years of sacrifice and practice, the day-in day-out commitment to
An Undeserved Hand The worst part about the pain, then, was knowing that it wouldn’t end anytime soon. Harold stared hard at his front door from where he lay on the asphalt. Tiny streaks of flame, white hot, shot up and down his back from his left hip. His mailbox towered overhead, uncaring, its contents