Balancing Motherhood & Artistry
This Wednesday, while hiding in the bathroom, I tried to call local libraries and bookstores to line up book events for The Alliance, but my girls (four years old and nineteen months) couldn’t stand being separated from me. So, they pounded on the door and twisted on the handle until I had to open it and usher them inside. The three of us stood in front of the sink, looking at each other in the mirror, as I continued to wait on hold. A few hours later, I received an extortion letter that required me to sit on the floor while a stranger told me how much I (allegedly) owe. Needless to say, Wednesday was not my favorite and had my husband praying before dinner, “Thank you for this . . . day.” And then he opened his eyes and grinned at me across the table because, in that pause, he'd purposefully omitted the word “good.” But then, as my husband and I were tucking our eldest into bed, she looked at me and said, "Did your book camed out?" I titled my head. "My book?" She nodded in the dark. "The one with the plane. Did it camed out?" I touched her chin. "No, not yet." "But your other ones camed out?" I smiled at her, my throat tight. "Yes. two." My husband and I looked at each other across her pink comforter, and the stress from the entire day just melted off me. I could tell by my his smile that it had melted off him too. Sometimes, if I’m just honest with you (and what's the point of all this if I'm not?), I wonder if I’m making the right choice by pursuing an author career while my children are so young. I wonder if, otherwise, I’d do more macaroni crafts, read more books, be more patient, bake complicated, raw-food cookies that my children actually like. What if--once my
The Secret to Writing a Novel
My dear friend (and former neighbor) emailed this week to ask my secret to writing a novel. Flattered, I smiled as I read her questions and promptly responded, promising that I would divulge my “wisdom” this weekend in a blog
The Grace of Germination
Our tiny greenhouse is filled with trays of seeds that are not bearing fruit. A few have pushed up through the dirt of the small, biodegradable pots made from a material like coffee filters. But the majority have remained burrowed down
The Maker & The Clay
On Tuesday, my friend, Marissa, birthed her stillborn son. Afterward, when I received her text, I furiously swept the floor with my eyes burning and jaw tight. I wanted to cry. I even went out to the chicken coop to
He Is Alive
Yesterday, I found myself sitting in a chair along the wall of a turquoise room in a birthing house, though I myself am not pregnant. On the adjacent wall, a yellow curtain with a sateen sheen fluttered from the air
“Open the door of my heart. Quick!”
Nudging my husband’s side in panic, I said, “Honey! Somebody’s at the door!” To many of you, hearing a knock at 9:35 at night probably wouldn’t incite such a breathless response. But my husband and I live in an apartment adjacent to
THE ALLIANCE Advance Reader Copy Giveaway!
Welcome to my new website, which has been lovingly (and, might I add, patiently) created by the wonderful Jessica Maher of Belle Greye Designs. Jessica is the daughter of one of my long-time author friends, Shellie Rushing Tomlinson, and they
“Mom! Look at me!” Learning To Focus On My Child’s Face
For the past few months, I've noticed that my almost four-year-old daughter, Miss A, has a floating eye. It usually only happens when she’s tired or so into a story—where expressive hand motions abound—that she has trouble focusing on my
Happy Little Clouds: A Writer Tries Her Hand at Painting
Last night, I tried my hand at painting. I’ve already been barred from painting walls, because no matter how careful I am in the beginning, the paint always ends up splattered in places it should never be. But I thought
The Power of Music
Monday morning, fresh from the shower, I opened the vintage music box I’d gotten for Christmas and took out my earrings, then turned the little dial so the music would play. Miss A, my almost four-year-old, watched from her perch