My word for 2019

It’s a new year. Yes, it’s a time for resolutions and goal setting, but it’s also a time for reflection. A time to look within, to review what’s behind us as we prepare for what’s ahead.

As a self-proclaimed lover of lists, you can bet I’ll be writing out bulleted lists of goals and scribbling down plans in my calendar. But for right now, on this first day, I want to go slow. Ease into the new year gently, the way one takes that first step on freshly fallen snow.

I’ve never picked a “word of the year” before – not that I can recall, anyway. But this year, the urge to do so has led me here, with a word that has been whispering in my ear and pattering around in my heart for many days. My word of the year is…

Rise – because I wish to rise above the petty aggravations and minor frustrations that I allow myself to get bogged down in all too often.

Rise – because I need to rise above the hatred and nastiness that seem to spread with alarming ease, leaving me with a sad heart and a soul heavy with dread.

Rise – because I want to rise above my fear of failure. Let go of the weight of self-doubt and stretch my arms, reaching out with both hands to the dreams that are within my grasp.

Rise – because this year does indeed mark the moment some of my dreams are coming true, and therefore I mean rise quite literally, as I hope to see my books climb the charts.

Rise – because the reality is, things won’t always go the way I want, and inevitably, bad comes with the good. I must prepare myself to rise above the negative, and resist the temptation to let one dark moment dull the shine of many bright ones.

Rise – because, in the end, that is the choice I must make. To sink or swim, fall or fly. This is my year to soar, and I’m ready.

Tunes for Trick or Treat

“If music be the food of love, play on.”

I may be taking the line out of context, but for me, this Shakespeare quote from Twelfth Night illustrates my belief that music is the flavor added to the banquet of life.  Melodies heighten experiences and can elevate even the daily and mundane (like driving in the car or going for a jog). Music is a key component for setting the mood and creating ambiance. Choosing the right music can make or break an event. At a party, it can get people on the dance floor or send them out the door.

As Halloween approaches, I’m putting together a playlist of my favorite fun and frightful tunes. My dozen spooky selections can be broken into three main groups: classic Halloween songs, creepy instrumental compositions, and dancey party jams.

Classic Halloween Songs:

These include Monster Mash, Thriller, and the theme songs to the Munsters and the Addams Family.

Creepy Compositions:

The theme to Halloween, the Psycho theme, Night on Bald Mountain, and my all-time haunted favorite: Danse Macabre by Saint-Saëns.

Dancey party jams:

Calling all the Monsters (yes, from the Disney channel), Ghostbusters (both the CLASSIC Ray Parker Jr version and the UPDATED Fall Out Boy remake), and the creeptastic Marilyn Mansion version of This is Halloween from Nightmare Before Christmas.

If you’re looking for some more spooky songs to round out your haunted playlist, check out Billboard’s Top 25 Halloweeen Songs.  Tip: they put one of these out each year, there is some overlap, of course, but it’s fun to look at what songs make the cut and what gets slashed. (yes, that was some Halloween humor).

Drink up witches the writing lush

So that’s it, witches! Crank up the tunes and get ready to collect some CANDY!!! Or,  celebrate #thewritinglush style, with one of these spooky spirits.

What would be on your Halloween playlist? Stop by my Facebook page and let me know!



I Hope You Know

Five years ago today, my dad died suddenly, and we never got to say goodbye. That isn’t fair, but in typical father-fashion my dad was fond of reminding me life isn’t fair, and well, he was right.

And while I will never get to say that good-bye, there are things I hope he carried with him to whatever the next place is. I don’t know how that all works, and I don’t care what anyone says on the subject (my dad included), no one really knows. Among all the wishes and wants and regrets of a grief-stricken heart, I hope he knew how much I loved him. How proud I was that he was my dad. How safe and cherished he made me feel as his daughter.

Now, five years later, again, with no clear sense of how any of this works – if I could make a wish to the universe – there are some things I hope he knows:

Hey Dad,

I hope you know that mom is doing okay.

I hope you know that my oldest, at fifteen and walking the angst-ridden tightrope between childhood and becoming an adult, is growing into a beautiful young woman whose heart is as giving and empathetic as always. I hope you know how much I wish you could give her one of your big, tender Papa Bear hugs.

I hope you know that my youngest, soon to be a decade old, is as ready to take on the world as ever. I hope you know how often I’ve thought of the ways you knocked me down a peg or two when my sass got out of hand, and how fun it would be to see you give it a go with her.

I hope you know that the dream we talked about on those early morning rides, the sun rising over our conversations (by the way, why did all the “dad” stuff you liked to do mean getting up before the crack of dawn?), is coming true.

And most of all, I hope that in whatever way it is possible, you already know all of this…because in whatever cosmic sense I can’t fathom, you have been with us all this time.

For Dad_0002
This picture was on my dad’s phone, taken on one of his rides not long before he died. In a way, I think of this photo as the good-bye I didn’t get.



Write more

Recently, I have realized something about my writing process. In order for it to happen, it needs to happen first.

Seems simple enough, right?

Why then, do I keep trying to convince myself otherwise? I will settle in for a writing session and think, “let me answer a few emails first,” or “I need to look up the name of that street I mention in chapter 5,” or “a quick scroll through instagram/facebook/twitter before I start” – well, 9 times out of 10, those few emails snowball into more emails, looking up the street name leads down a research rabbit hole, and we all know there is no such thing as a “quick” scroll on social media. So what happens? My writing time gets derailed, my word count goes nowhere, and my frustration with myself soars.

Yet, despite all this, the next time I sit down to write – guess what happens again?


This has to stop – and the only way I can make it stop is by following one simple (I won’t say easy, because it’s not) rule: WORDS FIRST.

When it’s time to write, then that’s what I should be doing, period. Anything else has to come later, whether it be necessary (replying to important emails), or not (surfing pinterest for pics of my latest hero inspiration when I’ve already pinned two dozen).

I have to make it a mantra I repeat – words first.

I need to make it a mission I remind myself of each day – words first.

Once I hit my daily word count goal, I can choose to keep going, or take a moment to do those  “other things.” Those other things can wait, my word count can’t.

So today, March 1st, I am launching a personal kick-in-the-pants to keep me on task: #WordsFirst

If you struggle to make time for your story, if you find yourself getting trapped in the same internet webs or falling down rabbit holes, you are welcome to join me. We can kick each other in the pants.

How about you? Do you have any tricks for staying motivated and reaching your writing goals? I’d love to hear about them! Share them with me HERE.

Why I’d Get a Tattoo of a Magical Unicorn

In early January of this year, as winter break was coming to a close, I met up with a friend to take our daughters to see the Disney film MOANA. I absolutely adored Moana’s grandmother, who affectionately referred to herself as “the village crazy lady” and had a beautiful tattoo of a giant sting ray spread across and down her back. Talk about goals! When I grow up, I hope I’m half as cool and comfortable in my own skin.

SPOILER ALERT: It’s been a long time since the movie was released, but to be fair, if you haven’t seen Moana yet, you may not want to keep reading.

OK, you’ve been warned.

When Moana’s grandmother dies it’s sad – of course it is – and of course I shed a few tears. But objectively, from a plot perspective, I understand. This is a necessary part of the hero’s journey. The passing of her grandmother forces Moana into action, spurs her forward. It is later in the film, when Moana is in her dark moment and has lost all hope – alone on the vast empty sea in the dead of night, unsure of how to go on – and the spirit of her grandmother visits her, first appearing as a majestic, dazzling sting ray, sweeping through the water, guiding the way…that’s when I really lose my emotional sh*t. The refrain Moana sings in this scene makes my heart do the squishy joy-sorrow thing and I turn into a sobbing mess.

I saw Moana on a Tuesday morning, and all through the movie I kept thinking of a friend who’d been struggling in a long battle with breast cancer that had recently taken a turn for the worse. She was an amazing person who I’d gotten to know better over the last few years, growing closer as our daughters became friends. She was a wife, a mother of two, a teacher, a phenomenal singer, a woman of incredible strength and unwavering faith. Her life and her journey affected many, many people and against all logic and reason, I continued to believe a miracle could come – would come – at any moment. But it was not to be. The very next day, on Wednesday morning, I received the news she’d passed away during the night. I imagined her, with her brilliant spirit and beautiful voice, becoming a bird – soft yet strong, singing a song that filled people with happiness, her melodies bringing all who listened a sense of peace.

When you’ve lost someone close, there are moments when you know – just know deep inside – they are there with you still. For me, after my dad passed away, whenever I saw a cardinal, I thought of him. He used to love to make cardinal bird call sounds and would “talk” to them, waiting patiently for me to locate the flash of red in the treetops he’d spotted long before they returned his calls with brilliant trills. Recently, I learned that for many people, cardinals are a sign of a loved one saying hello. I had no idea this little red bird held such significance for others besides myself. I do wonder what kind of tattoo my dad would have had were he to choose one – what he would have come back as – and I think a cardinal fits perfectly. He did love to fly, achieving his dream when he earned his pilot’s license.

If I had to choose a tattoo that represented what I would come back as, I think it would be a unicorn. From as far back as I can remember, I’ve always loved unicorns, a favorite childhood book was Morgan Mine and I adored the movie The Last Unicorn (still do). On a regular basis, my children refer to me as a “magical unicorn” and I like what the image of a unicorn represents: a free and independent creature that lives with no regrets, who seeks adventure and only shows her true self to those with loyal hearts – those who have faith. So yes, if I could choose what form my spirit takes after I go – what I’d come back as – it would be a unicorn.

Which is why that’s the kind of tattoo I’d get.

How about you? I’d love to know what you’d pick, let me know HERE.


NOTE: When someone you know dies, being there for the loved ones left behind is important, but sometimes it can be hard to know what to do – here are ways to really help.


The Time Traveling Magic of Music

We’ve all been there. You’re driving down the road, or eating at a restaurant, or shopping in a store, and a song comes on, a song that is irrevocably tied to some event in your past and bam! the world fades away and you’re back in that moment…

Maybe you’re 9, and it’s the song they always played at the roller rink. Maybe you’re 13, lying on your bed and staring at the posters on your wall as you listen to the first album you ever bought with your own money. Maybe you’re 16, and it’s the song you always cranked in your car that first summer you could drive.

It could be a big moment like the first dance at your wedding, or a small, seemingly insignificant one, like the song that was always on rotation during your shift at the mall – but whatever it is, you hear that song and you are transported back through time and space, suspended for a few beats in the version of the you that once was.

A song that’s like that for me is CRAZY by Patsy Cline. It was the summer of 1996 (I think, maybe it was ’95) and I was in a college production of Jame’s McLure’s Laundry & Bourbon, playing the role of Elizabeth Caulder. Every night before the show began I would wait alone backstage –  in costume but not yet in character. Then the lights would dim, the audience would quiet, and the first notes of twinkling piano and twanging guitar filled the auditorium. When Patsy began to sing I would walk onstage. As I moved to my place in the hushed dark I transitioned from me to her, from Melonie to Elizabeth, from college girl to lonely housewife. By the time the lights came up and the music faded away, the transition was complete. I was Elizabeth Caulder taking laundry off the line in her yard on a hot Texas afternoon.

Elizabeth and Hattie, gossiping on the front porch. Look up and you'll see the laundry line!
Elizabeth and Hattie, gossiping on the front porch. Look up and you’ll see the laundry line!
Elizabeth enduring a visit from the sanctimonious Amy Lee. (played by my future IRL roommate).
Drinking iced tea and bourbon (Hattie may have spiked Amy Lee's)
Drinking iced tea and bourbon (Hattie may have spiked Amy Lee’s glass)

20 or so years later (God, did I really just type that) I still can’t hear this song without thinking of that summer, of that show. It doesn’t mater if I’m in the car or a grocery store line,  I hear those tinkling piano notes and Patsy’s voice and I’m backstage, waiting in the dark for my cue. Ready to take my place on stage, the sensation so strong I can almost feel the bright, hot lights on my face.

They say smell is the strongest trigger for memories, and maybe that’s true, but nothing transports me back as completely to a specific place, to a singular moment, like a song.

Have a song with the same time traveling magic for you? Hop on over to my FB Page and let me know!

Reach for the Moon: A Father’s Day Tribute

Stars quote 24 Sundays.

4 Father’s Day holidays without my Dad.

I understand why holidays can be a difficult time, more difficult than most other days.  Celebrations marked by time spent with loved ones become a painful reminder that the loved one is no longer there. Shopping for cards, one must do their best to avoid certain sections or else risk falling apart in the aisle. Looking at social media feeds, one must ignore the unavoidable pangs of  grief, and yes sometimes jealousy, from the posts of others who have not experienced the same loss.

This Father’s Day I will celebrate my husband, a wonderful father to our girls. But I will also miss my dad, and the loss that has numbed over time will feel fresh; a re-opened wound, the pain sharp again. Over the last few years as holidays, birthdays, and special moments come and go without my dad, I’ve learned that there  is a salve to ease the wound when it becomes too painful.


At my dad’s  funeral, one of the best gifts I ever could have been given were the stories people shared about him. From the touching to the hilarious, the memories people shared  about my dad were like sandbags of grace, shoring up the flood of grief threatening to spill over and wash me away.

So to honor my dad, and to ease the ache I’m feeling right now, on the eve of another Father’s Day without him, I’m going to share a story.

My dad was the kind of guy who never did anything half-way. If he developed an interest in something, he was invested 110%. One of his lifelong passions was astronomy. He was fascinated by the moon and planets and the endless possibilities of space. When I was very little, my dad decided he wanted a telescope. So does the man flip through a Sears catalog and order himself one? No. He decides he’ll build his own. A Journeyman Tool&Die maker, my dad was good with his hands, and quite good at designing stuff. So over time, piece by piece, his created and built his own telescope.

Later, when I was a teenager, my dad revived his hobby. This time, just building a telescope wasn’t enough. This time he decided to build an entire freaking planetarium in our back yard.

I miss my dad. At his funeral, I too shared some stories. Among them was how my dad taught me how to find constellations in the night sky. It’s been years and years since he first showed me how to spot the line of Orion’s belt, or the zig-zag shape of Cassiopeia, but when I look up at the night sky and study the vast expanse above me, I am that little girl again, laying on the picnic bench (that my dad built) and studying the stars… listening to his voice… hearing his stories.