Hallelujah! Summer is almost here. In a mere 2 1/2 days, I will once again be a full-time writer. The content of this site will also change slightly as I shift into writer mode and begin sharing more about the process and work. Is my excitement shooting out from the computer screen? I am SO flipping ecstatic about working on my 3 pet projects: two massage therapy books and my novel. Thanks to Nadia, the novel now has a new working title: Life on Hold. My protagonist, Sarah Manning, is really starting to take shape. I still have no idea what she does for a living, but she has revealed more about her relationship with her husband. That's where I finally realized the main theme of the story. It's all about the expectations we encounter in our lives. Sarah and her sisters have each placed their lives on hold in an attempt to meet the expectations of their spouses, family, and themselves. Who knows how my foray into fiction will turn out, but I will post some excerpts from the novel

For the last 2 weeks I've been reading a biography on Scott Fitzgerald . At the moment, I'm completely wrapped up in his wreckless, genuine, extravagant, and tragic life story. I'm at the point when his wife had her first mental breakdown, and Fitzgerald is entering a period of both his best and worst work, but certainly not his most popular phase. (Funny how life works in those extremes.) I suppose if someone wrote my biography they would describe this last as my busiest non-productive years, but the one that shaped me into the woman I became. So much has happened, and I tend to feel like there's been no rest, but I know I've changed. My dear husband mentioned something to me the other day about applying for some grants so I can pursue writing full-time. I love the fact that he knows that nothing would make me happier, and he believes in my talent. That conversation along with the fact that everything Fitzgerald wrote was completely autobiographical has inspired m

Maybe I've been spending too much time with early teenagers lately, but I've had a lot of thoughts rumbling through my head lately that sound way too much like my journal from 1990. When you're in the middle of that teenage angst, there's always any number of adults around telling you that it will all make sense one day. That eventually you will be at peace with yourself. That "this, too, will pass". And they do. I see now from my vantage point of 31 (Wow...31? Really?) that perspective comes only with experience. I wrote in my journal the other day that sometimes I want to "crawl into my 12 year old skin". It's not that I really want to live through those days again. It's just that I miss the simplicity of knowing my daily goal was to learn how to solve equations and the gross domestic product of Brazil, to write some notes to friends, to watch my favorite t.v. shows, and go to sleep knowing that my life was just one great big bundle of poss

I made a deal with myself last week that if I could eat clean Monday through Friday, I would buy myself Urban Decay's Deviant eyeliner. I could barely contain myself as I ran into Ulta and straight for the Urban Decay display. This stuff is electric blue with just the right hint of glitter, and I really want to just color my entire body with it or inject it directly into my veins. I am so in love with this eyeliner right now. My sweetie says I'm only a frayed jean skirt and can of hairspray away from 1987. That's okay with me; I kind of liked that year.

I arrived home Wednesday just in time to wrap one of my baby geese in a towel before she gasped for her last few breaths. As she lay in my arms dying, I cried and prayed the only words that came to my mind: “Dear Jesus, please carry Your creature to Your kingdom.” I placed her inside a shoe box and my sweetie buried her near the fence in a hole deep enough to keep our hunting cats from digging her up. I so wish someone from The Publisher’s Clearinghouse had been videotaping me yesterday afternoon when I walked in to check on the remaining goose. Inside his makeshift pen were two new geese. One looks just like the other geese did when I brought them home, except he has hamster-like chubby cheeks. The other one is a delicate yellow. Apparently, my dear one decided to go to the feed store this morning on a day when we didn't need dog food or an assortment of John Deere toys. This is no small feat that required a 1 hour round trip drive into town. When we have a baby, I hope it’s a gir

I was so impressed by my last post that I shared it with my grandmother who immediately said, "Just remember to hold on to that faith when bad things happen." That was fair enough, and I've been through enough rough moments in my life to know there's always something waiting around the bend with the potential to shake my core. Little did I know just how quickly it would rear its ugly head. A few years ago I first noticed a weird little scar on my back. I have no recollection of how I got it. It just suddenly was there. The only spot on my very red, sunburned back. I never thought much of it until I went to the dermatologist a few weeks ago. Names have an interesting way of taking over. Until the doctor spoke the word, I didn't think of the spot as anything more than an entity named Bob or Herman or Frankie with a made up a story about how we met up during our time in the Peace Corp in Bolivia. No such luck for me. It turns out that my weird little scar is actually