I have never read the “How To Be A Good Mother” handbook. If I had, I am sure I would not have committed so many #MomFails in my son’s eleven years. For instance, I might have read in the DOs and DON’Ts section of the Terrible Twos chapter that no matter how frazzled you are …
I love art… in theory. I mean, I’m not up on my current rock stars of the art world or anything, but I appreciate the talent and vision that artists have. I can look at a painting and consider what the artist was trying to convey. I can stand before a sculpture and infuse its …
So there it is. My latest novel is now officially published. The object of my toil for the past two years, the subject of my love-hate relationship, the beast I’ve dreamed about, stressed over, doubted and loved like a proud parent… it’s out there. It’s on its own. Fly, my little bird, take wings and …
I am finally, FINALLY moving on my latest WIP. The end is in sight… I hope. For now, I am happy to share with you all the masterpiece that my favourite cover artist, Viola Estrella of Estrella Cover Art, created just for me. Her talent and intuition never cease to amaze me. She sends me …
I have bought a house. Such a small paragraph for such a profound, life-altering responsibility, isn’t it? Home ownership takes many forms and has many motivators. For me, it’s all about the fixer upper. Here is where my head was at when I started this process. I was going to find a place that needed …
ROUTINE. That was going to be my goal for 2018. It was going to be my mantra. My raison d’etre. 2018 was going to be a year of order and structure, of productivity and of set times for set activities. After a year of upheaval and personal trauma in which I couldn’t seem to get …
“I’ve lost my muse.” So laments The Bard himself, as portrayed by Joseph Fiennes in Shakespeare in Love. It was one of my favourite movies through my teen years, and my VHS copy was well worn… yes, I realize I’m dating myself with that admission. The loss of Shakespeare’s muse, the Elizabethan “cure” of writing …
I’ve got a post today that has nothing to do with my writing or my books … or anybody’s writing or books for that matter. I tried, at first, to tie it all together, but about half way through it felt forced, contrived. So I’m just going to go for it and tell it like …
Do you remember your first childhood love? That tongue-tied, red-faced, all-consuming crush where you don’t know if you’re coming or going, but it’s the centre of your universe and you wouldn’t change it for anything? I do. I was nine. Twenty-odd years later, my first crush still haunts my subconscious. Literally.
Journals. If you’re a writer, you’re supposed to keep one, right? Virginia Woolf did it, and so did other greats like Franz Kafka, Susan Sontag and C.S. Lewis. So yeah, okay, for a long time I felt like a total failure because I couldn’t maintain one, despite my many attempts over the years. And believe …
