writing a novel
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Hello from the end of a better day, and the end of the container of shredded Parmesan. I made some writing progress last night, which felt good, but ultimately what difference does it really make? I guess you could say the same thing about showering. Or waking up. Or eating. We do it to do
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Hello from the house of unhappy bodies. My almost 5 year old is still sick. She is missing a birthday party today, and the TV is back on, for the 4th day. I really really hate having the TV on, especially during the day. My dog just came inside, limping, then holding up her bad
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Hello from a sick day, again, only 3 weeks after my daughter’s last. Is this normal? I’m not sure. I used to pride myself on her health, owing it solely to the lack of processed foods in our house, the lack of sugar. We are still exclusively eating Ezekiel bread, still cutting up pounds and
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Hello I say with my T rex arms, shortened because of the extra large 5 month old I have strapped to my chest. Let’s take a breath together. Smell the flowers, blow out the candle. It’s time to decide about that scene, that vestigial scene that doesn’t quite fit anymore. That’s the problem with editing
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What I’m experiencing now, and what I don’t remember experiencing with my first kid, is a difficulty in holding onto thoughts or ideas, particularly if they have to do with myself/ my life outside of house and kids. It feels like the outer edge of my brain—the crust, if you will, and perhaps even parts
How not to 