Dear Morgan, Don’t Give Up!

Several long-term goals were within my grasp. I had a plan. My confidence was high, twenty-sixteen was the year I’d been dreaming of.

Until

On an overcast night in early February when we took our dogs out to potty before bed. Our big dog, Meg, was already outside on her lead when Molly and I arrived. Meg was so excited to see us that she did three joyous laps around us in a couple of seconds. Before I could step out of the loops made from her lead, a strange sound in the neighbor’s yard distracted Meg and she ran to investigate.

I woke up laying on the concrete patio looking up at the stars and worried about Molly.

Everything Changed

I’d gotten a concussion when I landed on my head on the concrete. Nausea and headaches became normal. When we went to the doctor, my mom told her I’d been speaking a lot of gibberish since it happened. I’d known I’d been struggling with my words but I’d had no clue that I wasn’t making any sense.

I lost six weeks of writing time because I couldn’t focus on anything. Stupidly, I assumed I could just work extra hard for a month or two and my amazing year would continue as planned with only this hiccup to make things interesting.

Before falling I’d planned to finish rewriting Valentine’s Catastrophe before Camp NaNoWriMo started on April first. Then I’d write the rough draft of UnScrooged, a full-length Christmas romance novel, during camp. And after that complete rewrites of my first book, The Fire-Pit, followed by another rough draft of a brand new story.

It quickly became clear this schedule was never going to happen. I couldn’t work for more than a couple of hours a day and barely made any progress. Halfway through camp, I officially changed my goals so I wouldn’t beat myself up for being so far behind schedule.

False Hope

The last week of Camp NaNoWriMo I reached an intense and emotional scene. No matter what I did it wouldn’t come together. Desperate to finish the story, I took a pen and paper outside in the hope that inspiration would strike. Molly came with me. We enjoyed the sunny spring day and while she did fun dog things, I wrote.

By the time Molly wanted to go inside I’d written more than I had in over a week. Excitement and relief surged through me. I was back to my old self!

I woke up early the next day eager to get to work. Two cups of coffee later, I’d only written a couple of sentences and didn’t like either one. By lunch I was blinking back the tears gathering in my eyes.

I hate crying. I hate being weak. Continue reading “Dear Morgan, Don’t Give Up!”

My 2016 Word

Dear Morgan,

I can’t believe 2016 is not only here, but is a little over a week old. One thing I really don’t like about getting older is the time warp phenomenon. Morgan, I know you know what I mean. I have a lot to do this year so let me get right to the point.

Most years I pick a word that summarizes where and how I want to focus my attention for the next twelve months. I didn’t bother for the last two years. One of my favorite authors published a post after Christmas about her word for 2016. Inspired by her story, I decided to choose a word.

Reap

Yep, that’s my word and it’s perfect for me.

Back in 2012, I started researching and planning for my first novel, The Fire-Pit. I wasn’t thinking small either. This would be the first book in a series with at least four books. Continue reading “My 2016 Word”

My Fear of Journaling

Growing up I never bought a diary or journal for myself, but I did receive a few as gifts. Flowers and butterflies in a variety of colors decorated the hardback cover and the inside pages. The paper was soft and inviting. When I ran my hand over it I felt the urge to write.

It was ready to hold all my stories, fears, worries, crushes, pet peeves, joys, discoveries, hopes, and dreams. With my favorite well-chewed pen, I was ready to document my life!

But I could never make myself write in it. Continue reading “My Fear of Journaling”

Dear Diary

Thunder rolls through the air. Dark gray clouds fill the sky in every direction. Molly won’t usually go potty during a storm so I try to take her out when I hear one beginning. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I love how the rain sounds as it falls and the fresh smell that fills the air. Because I’ve spent more than half my life in that rainy part of the country I don’t always notice storms right away. Soon after the thunder announced itself I took Molly out hoping she would go.

I opened the garage door and discovered a steady rain coming down. Molly stood on the threshold calculating if it would be best to go now or later. She opted for later, it’s a good thing she was out just an hour ago. We watched it rain for a while before Molly declared it was time to back inside.

The smell outside was completely unexpected. Instead of inhaling a fresh scent, my nose dutifully notified me that somewhere nearby was a very large, very dirty, fish tank. Do you know what I mean? The stink of algae and muck and fish. We live near a few small lakes and a river. I don’t know if that has anything to do with it because I’ve never smelled this unless I was standing next to the water or a fish tank in need of serious cleaning. The stink is today’s mystery. Continue reading “Dear Diary”