Archive for April, 2014

Blog hop nominees

I’m all about sharing the love, so I chose three writers I would love to hear more from.

First may I introduce you to Sarah Rhea Werner and her alter ego who also lives here in paradise. (Actually today it almost was, but I digress.) She’s young, energetic and a believer in the words, especially when they’re put together in a way that makes them greater than their sum. I know that she’s going to bring it big. In the meantime, enjoy taking a look at what she writes – see link above – or follow her on Twitter at @sarahrheawerner.

My second nominee is Valerie Suydam who pens The Writer’s Code and can often be found tweeting @valeriesudyam. She writes a lot about writers, and she writes a lot about her perception of what they had to say. Visit, say hello and stay awhile.

My third nominee graciously declined to participate. Love her anyway. Visit her blog, The Freedom Experiment. You’ll find your self feeling better about life.

I’ve had fun blog hopping and have meandered in and out of lots of great blogs. Thanks again to Mrs Inger Anna Jones for the nomination.




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the writing life

source: morguefile

Feeling honored tonight to be invited to blog hop with friends who happen to write. Are there any other kind? Kidding of course, but I do treasure the people I meet who share my passion. Kinship is essential to my writing life. Since moving from Houston, Texas to Sioux Falls, South Dakota I’ve struggled to find a circle of writers that  understand this life and will have me. Thank you to all of you who make an attempt to “get me.”

This is how it works (I think). If you’re nominated, you answer four questions about writing (see below) and link back to the person that nominated you. You may meet a kindred spirit or two while you share your thoughts.

Thank you for the invite Inger. Your blog  inspires and I heartily recommend a visit to anyone interested in exploring the life. I can’t wait to check out the other bloggers you invited at The Kelswitch and Sally Ember Ed.D.  Let the blog hopping begin.

Why do I write what I write?

There is no good answer. I am a copywriter with a creative group by day. This pays my bills and gets my adrenaline pumping when deadlines loom and I deliver just the write headline. Given different life circumstances, I would give up the rush for solitude and a blank page. I have been working on a memoir which seems unfinishable, but that must somehow be finished because that is the only way I can make sense of all the things life has thrown my way. I write what I write because my business on the planet seems incomplete if I don’t hash it out, give it form and make it beautiful – or whatever it wants to be. I also have a tumblr because it allows room for small life observations that I find curious and want to share.

What am I working on? 

I’m working on the memoir mentioned above and a book of affirmations for kids. I started a chapter book for children that stalled when I had a baby at age 45. My son, who is now 6, indulges my imagination and sends me off in lots of different directions. This project remains on my list. I don’t consider myself a children’s author, but have had some success. Weird.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I like to think this book is different because, although it addresses spirituality, my growing sense of the divine feminine and a shift away from traditional beliefs, it has little to do with God and lots to do with discovering the inner guidance that has led me through all of life’s challenges – quietly, softly, but without my understanding that it even existed. More than anything, I believe that EVERY book is different, because every voice is different. We all have stories that only we can tell.

How does your writing process work?

With observation. I keep a journal and I’m committed to daily writing practice wherever it fits in my day. I scribble down the inspiration and when an hour opens up in my day, I sit with that observation, develop it, and let it take shape. When I give it the space to grow, it’s quick. The words know where to place themselves. When my creative spirit is drained, it waits for me to catch up. The most difficult part of my writing life is finding the juice after meeting writing deadlines all day at the office.


I feel blessed to know that writing makes sense in my world. If I am the only person that ever benefits from my words, it will be worth every second. I have made peace with knowing that some things I write are just for me.

Now, for the nominations…

They’ll have to wait. I must give it a little thought. Until tomorrow. In the meantime, I will be hopping blogs.

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I’m notorious for not listening. Every single day I am nudged by that tiny voice inside that says, “Hey, listen up.” So being the self-aware person that I am, I will admit that there are lots of times I turn down the volume. I’m too busy to listen. The dirty dishes are calling or the dog’s toys need picking up. I can think of lots of reasons not to listen. It’s a habit. Worse yet, I don’t even get that I’m not listening until the moment where the tiny voice get smug and says, “I told you so.”

The funniest part of all is that I generally trust my gut, but I let my head make the decisions.

Lately that little voice has been getting louder and it’s saying, “Perfectionism is overrated. Knock it off.” So being the self-aware person that I am I have to take a look at my life and respond with a “You must be kidding.”

If there is one thing that has always defined me it’s my perfectionism. And I’m not sure where it began, unless it was winning that statue of St. Jude when I was in first grade for perfect attendance and the approving smile of Sister Jude Thaddeus who I loved with all my heart. Despite her obvious disdain for astrology, I have embraced the Virgo in me and knit that little bit of craziness into my very cells.


Unable to cope with mediocrity, I played only sports in which I excelled and indulged in The Arts. I was good at The Arts. I could write a decent poem, handle a calligraphy pen with grace and sketch a better-than-average still life.

In the midst of a failing marriage I didn’t fall apart. If I couldn’t have a perfect marriage I would have a perfect divorce. I handled my depression with grace and was a textbook example illustrating with perfection the stages of grief. Then I came out the other side with another chance at perfect.

Eight years and one second husband later, I have a great six year old who has embraced – to my absolute horror – perfectionism.

I feel his pain when he slips up. A crayon that misbehaves is cause for starting over. A spot of chocolate that landed on a white shirt on a Saturday afternoon is not acceptable. And a pair of boots forgotten at school the night before a snowstorm – a crisis. I know this pain.

He has become the tiny voice that shouts at me every single day and this time I’m listening.

I don’t quite know how to get there, but I have a plan and it starts with accepting that my view of perfection is imperfect. Perfect isn’t being the best, being right, knowing the answers, cleaning up all the dog toys before bedtime. Perfect is the attitude that life, with all its incomplete projects and dirty dishes and temper tantrums and cold weather in April, is perfect just as it is. There is beauty and goodness in laughing at our imperfect wonderful lives and knowing that we wouldn’t have them any other way.


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