Writes
I’m back to writing. Thanks for waiting on me. Emotive Warning: This is a series of journal snippets that I’ve written over a week of rollercoaster like twists and turns. I tried to turn it into something more readable, but it still feels a bit messy but helpful for me. I hope it resonates with at least one person. Snippet… Continue reading Life is a little ugly
Staring down a new knee and a new chapter Well, it’s the day before knee replacement surgery. I’ve been writing like my brain is on fire, mostly to distract myself from the fact that someone is about to take power tools to my leg. That’s not a metaphor. That’s… tomorrow. I wish I could say I’m handling it with grace… Continue reading Writing Through the Waiting Room
An Ode to BBC Mysteries This ode was written with heartfelt affection for Rosemary & Thyme. I’ve been deep into the BritBox app for AppleTV today and got inspired when I went for my English breakfast tea. O hush, the hedgerows rustle low— Another vicar’s met his fate. A gardener’s spade, a poisoned scone, The village fair runs ten minutes… Continue reading Murder Among the Marigolds
I needed some space to be messy I disappeared for a few days, which in writer-time is approximately twelve years. My body went full protest mode, knee pain, appointments, tiny betrayals whispered behind my patella. I don’t want to dwell on it, but suffice it to say: I became very horizontal. And while I was dramatically horizontal on the couch,… Continue reading Back At It
Last Day of #1000wordsofsummer & Planning a Challenge Dear Jami, Progression 19,217 words of brand new draft in 14 full chapters 7,879 words of outline covering 23 total chapters The realization that this book wants to be born this summer, no matter what my joints think about it I don’t know what I expected from #1000wordsofsummer. Maybe a few rushed… Continue reading Recovery Writing Challenge
The Collective The third floor opened around them like a held breath, wide and soft and strange in its gentleness. This wasn’t the rest of the warehouse, no peeling paint, no rusted piping groaning in the walls. It was warmth and filtered light, old wood and quiet corners. A space carved out for retreat, for rest. Grace blinked at it,… Continue reading Chapter 9: Where the Steam Clings
The Collective The room settled into a taut hush, like the whole place was holding its breath. Even the old coffee pot gave up with a final sputtering sigh, its last drip hitting the burner like a heartbeat too late. Grace stood by the counter, mug in hand. She lifted it to her lips, but paused, her nostrils flared faintly,… Continue reading Chapter 8: When the Body Remembers First
The Collective Oakley’s voice faded from the phone, tinny and final. Grace crossed her arms, mouth set in a line that could cut glass. She didn’t argue. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. She had objections lined up in mental bullet points. Beginning with her total lack of medical training and ending with the part where she was about… Continue reading Chapter 6 : Driving The Rougarou
The Collective Grace turned off the ignition and the hum of the engine died, swallowed by the dense hush of Salt Row. Gravel crunched under her boots as she stepped out. The warehouse loomed, massive and rust creased. Its corrugated walls are the color of old blood and wet bone. Above, the faded sign blinked in the dark like a… Continue reading Chapter 7: Almost Renovated
