Author Blog

Sometimes the most direct way isn’t always the best. This is true for road trips, writing, and life. By changing one thing, taking one detour, or making one decision over another can impact the outcome. Most of the time for the better.

A few weeks ago, I watched The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. I found the movie interesting, as it dealt with two terminally ill men who create a bucket list of things to do before they die. Both humorous and sad, the plot raised a question to my writer mind.

It’s that time of year again, the time of renewal, rebirth, warmer weather. Spring. Flowers bloom, trees bud, birds build their nests and the always dreaded-spring cleaning.

It’s that time of year again. Kids are back in school. Unlike past years though, I did not accompany my youngest to school on her first day; she went on the bus. This made me sad because a tradition had ended.

I hate to iron. Let me count the ways. Pants, shirts, dresses, skirts, underwear… Underwear? Yes, I’ve heard people iron their underwear. Don’t worry, I’m not one of them. I know, TMI, but how many writers do you know who haven’t exposed a piece of themselves to better a story?

Commit me. I must be certifiable. We just allowed our eight-year-old son to buy a used drum set from our neighbors. As if there wasn’t enough noise in my house to begin with between the big screen television with surround sound, two kids, three cats, and one hamster.

I’m depressed. You know, that mind numbing depression you face when staring at that manuscript after you’ve ditched another pair of too-tight pants lying in a pile on the floor. I realize I’ve hit that road bump of mid-life, and in a writer’s life, I have a sagging middle.
How did this happen?

I sit watching my daughter’s ballet class; I marvel at the teacher’s patience, trying her best to corral a bunch of high-energy, enthusiastic 4-and 5-year-olds into order.

Okay. I admit it. I’m one of those parents the teachers hate so much. Why? Because I’m the one dancing in the hallways on the first day of school.

The other day, I drove my two darling kids from another eventful trip to the grocery store. You know the driving experience that ranks up there with a root canal. From the “Mommy, Shane hit me.”, to “No way, Emily hit me first.” To the most popular, “Shane won’t quit looking at me.”, followed by “Well, Emily spit at me”.