Leaving 2016.  DON’T look back! 

This year has been pretty incredible. Good and bad. From all the famous deaths to my difficult personal journey this year, I’m looking forward to starting a fresh, new year. I suspect there’s a few people out there that can empathize. 

I believe happiness is your responsibility. I don’t believe in blaming others for what you’ve chosen to do or how you live. That being said, I’ve come to realize that if I want to finish my novel, raise my twins well and excel at my job…it’s all up to me. 

I have the same quantity of time each day as everyone else. Much as I want to say I need more time, time management is the true answer. 

Unfortunately, being diagnosed with bi-polar and panic attacks years ago, hasn’t helped. I’m not on medication or seeing a therapist. Honestly, I think I’ve done a fairly good job managing my emotions on my own. Until tonight. 

Sometimes I get fired up over something minor, that doesn’t even really affect me and I should let it roll off. But suddenly I over analysis, obsess and end up blowing up. To me, this is unacceptable. 

Going back to my original declaration…this is on me. It’s not my husband, my twins or social media that’s to blame for my frustration. It’s all on me. 

So I’ve decided to consider seeking out a therapist. To make sure I’m “normal” or to hear that indeed I’m a little extreme and need some sort of medication to even me out. It’s a tough decision for various reasons:  money, potential side affects, management of time around the appts…fear.

My number one concern about considering therapy and medication again is what it could do to me creatively. Sure, it may help even out my moods, keep me rolling on the positive side of life and best of all, quiet my mind to help me sleep!  But what if I try a med again, and lose my ability to want to create?

My writing suffered in the past when I was on medication. 

So. Do I try to calm my anxiety and even out my moods?  Or do I do everything I can to manipulate those outrageous thoughts into an amazing manuscript to fulfill my number 1 goal (after having the twins of course 😉 ) of publishing a novel?

Decisions, decisions. 

Adulthood is not easy. But one of my two options above should certainly make it better. 

The question is…which one?

Creator of image unknown


You’re never ready…

As I inch closer to 40, I have come to realize something.  I’m never ready for major life changes.  There are many out there that probably thrive on chaos and zero structure in their life.  Not me.  I love getting comfortable, I enjoy my routine.  It’s not that I don’t love to change things up a bit, or try something new.  I’m a writer…I have to get out of my zone sometimes.

But my twins started kindergarten this last week and LET ME TELL YOU, it’s not easy.  It’s never easy to adjust your entire life, but it’s even worse when the only two kids you’ve ever had…wander off in search of new experiences.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fantastic.  I hope they love school, make new friends and have a smile on their face every day when I get them off the bus.  Doesn’t make letting them go any easier 😦

Maybe I can absorb some of the emotions to eventually use them in my writing, but at this point…I’m just trying to make it through the day without crying.

Any readers with kids will understand, life changes that involve them on their path is scary, exciting, thrilling and horrifying all at the same time.


“Lost” Excerpt

As the blade sliced through her skin like a knife through warm butter, red pain seeped slowly from the small gash.   She felt the cool hand of an invisible force press back against the flames of hell that threatened to engulf her.  Take her and bury her in the dark depths of an unforgotten cavern where no one could reach her again.

She watched as the trickle of blood started to ooze down her wrist and pool in the palm of her hand before overflowing and dripping to the crisp, white carpet at her feet.

Sinking to the floor, she studied the cut while a losing battle raged behind her crystal blue eyes.

This cut, unlike the many before, would never close.

Deep and shallow cuts.  Scars and fresh scabs.  Wounds that had long ago damaged the porcelain skin, but never truly healed, disappeared beneath the scarlet essence of life flowing from her body.

He’d never change…

But she’d never again have to feel the agony from it.