Writer’s Life

Writers make for unfortunate bed mates. I understand that I have no room to talk here, as I think my king size bed is just right for one person, 40 books, 10 notepads, and a small pooch, but it’s been a rough go lately and Catie has needed to sleep with me on a pretty regular basis. I have got to get used to falling asleep by the glow of her laptop, but if I wrote half as much as she did, I’d be in good shape.

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Midnight Notes

As a creative type, I’m constantly making notes – on my phone, tiny scraps of paper, my arm, whatever is handy.  My memory just can’t be trusted and if I don’t write it down right away, it’s gone. Probably forever.

Last week, I woke up in the middle of the night and simply had to take a note. This was GOOD stuff and I didn’t want to lose it. This could be IT. The magical words that would lead to my big break.

So in the morning, when I picked up the Post-It Note off the floor, what phrase greeted me? What was my key to literary respect and success?

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What in the ever loving hell does that mean?

After careful consideration, my writing group determined that it’s simply a reference to my ovaries and to carry on with my day job.

Galentines Day!

We don’t do a lot of Hallmark holidays around here. (We totally scored half-price candy on February 15th, but that’s not falling victim to holidays created simply to encourage superfluous spending. That’s just smart shopping.)

Galentine’s Day, though, is big. It calls for cocktails and french fries and lovely handmade cards like this one from my sweet writing friend, Maryann. Dixie Carter and Alec Baldwin? Can’t lose.

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I take it all back, Facebook.

I am one of those annoying people who over-uses Facebook, but also complains about people over-using Facebook.

“Talk to people in real life,” I say.
“Does *everything* have to go on social media?”
“We’re going to wish we had more real memories with people and fewer virtual ones.”

Obviously, I have lots of important and hypocritical things to say about the use of social media.

Yesterday afternoon, though, when my dad was somewhere between an ambulance flying down the interstate at 85 miles an hour and emergency heart surgery, Facebook was the only thing I had to reach out to him.

Trying to get home, stuck on Marta, wondering if we’d actually already said our goodbyes, I logged on to his Facebook page and left him a simple message.

He may have a long few weeks ahead of him, but last night I got to keep my dad, and I will keep this screenshot forever.

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