The We Way to Wander

What’s the best way to explore a new city

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Not us… but Blayk look very similar. If only this was a real trip.

Alright, my loves, are you ready?”

“Let’s go over the ground rules again.”

“Mimi, we already know, even if you didn’t already tell us over and over,” says Nae Nae.

They all giggle.

“Okay, smart britches. What are they?”

At the same time, they say, “Have fun!”

I laugh. “Okay, that was too easy. What else?”

“We have to get along, best we can. Remember, this is a we trip, not a me trip,” says Nae again.

Blayk, the one I normally have to nudge to speak, actually chimes in. “We have to come prepared and pick a few things we may want to do. Everyone gets a day, so no, and I mean NO…”

And again, we all say, “I don’t knows!”

Mady starts getting excited. “Oh yeah, and we all have to be willing to do what everyone else wants to do. We all get a turn.”

I smile and nod at Mady before turning to Rachel.

“Rachel, I expect you not to fuss because you don’t get your day every day.”

She scowls. I’m not sure if she feels called out or defensive, or maybe she’s just upset that she doesn’t get every day.

She is feisty, but oh so lovable.

And with that, our first Grands + Mimi adventure begins.

Somehow, the days go faster than all the years I’ve spent dreaming about them. We fly over the city in a helicopter, escape it for a little nature, scream our way through amusement park rides, spend time at the beach, wander through vintage shops, people-watch on busy streets, visit Juilliard, and sit together for a musical. Each day belongs to someone different, and somehow, each day belongs to all of us.

On our last night, we sit together, tired from trying to squeeze every possible minute out of this trip.

I look around at the four of them.

“Thank you guys for making a Mimi dream come true. I am so proud of the humans you are.”

I give them a second before continuing.

“Now, as you probably know, there’s one more thing.”

I get a few looks. They know me too well.

“Everyone has to name one thing you enjoyed about someone else’s day. But there’s a catch. If the first person picks Blayk’s day, the next person has to pick somebody else’s. No everybody picking the same day.”

I smile. “I’m going to play too, and I’m going first. Except I’m picking four. One for each of you.”

“Every day was my favorite. Blayk, the helicopter ride was so much fun, and the nature soothed my mind.

“Rachel, you did so good. The amusement park and beach day was so much fun. I don’t remember the last time I played that hard.

“Nae, I loved watching you do your favorite things. I have a whole new appreciation for vintage shops, and the way you did your research? Wow. We got to really enjoy the streets. Oh, and the people-watching…”

I turn to Mady.

“Like your brother and cousins, I loved watching you light up, leaning into the things that tick your tock. I loved how you wanted to see Juilliard, and the musical was so entertaining.”

I look over at Blayk.

“You want to go first or last? I understand this isn’t something you love doing, so I appreciate your participation.”

“I’ll go first,” he says. “I had fun at the beach and the amusement park. I feel like Rachel picked an everybody day. I think we all had fun.”

Rachel is beaming.

“Great answer, Blayk. I agree. Okay, who’s next?”

Mady, ever the animated one, shoots in. “Me, me, me!”

Nae laughs. “Yeah, I want to be last.”

Mady quickly speaks up. “I really liked riding in the helicopter. I was so scared, but it was so fun. But I also liked Nae’s day. It was…”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “I want to know, but you can only pick one person. So hold that thought.”

I look at Rachel. “You have to pick Nae or Mady’s day.”

“I pick my sister because everything is fun with her.”

“Aww, thanks, Rachel. I feel the same way about you,” Nae says, beaming.

“Anything specific?” I ask.

Rachel thinks for a moment. “I liked that she held my hand all day.”

That one gets me.

Nae looks at her sister. “I want to pick you, Sissy, but our cousin Mady gets her turn.”

She turns toward Mady.

“The musical was so fun, and seeing you in the city you’ve always dreamed of was thrilling to me. Especially seeing Juilliard.”

That plane ride home is so sweet, reflecting on the memories we made. I am quite happy with my choice.

We got to explore amazing New York in ways we might not have chosen for ourselves. Exploration with the we in mind expanded our adventures in so many unexpected ways.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Fourteen

Like the coffee shop, Garden Terrace had become a favorite place to eat.

The appetizers had arrived, but Roni hadn’t touched her food. She was too busy entertaining them with the events of her day.

“Guys, this day was one funky day all the way through. I expected it to be smooth. I was just getting the final things together. I needed to pick up the dress, check the flower arrangements one more time, and make sure the cake was exactly what they promised.”

“Everyone I encountered seemed to know all too well that Bridezilla was what they were going to be facing. So I thought I’d have a little fun and go in with a bit of a rawr.”

“Oh no, Roni, that wasn’t nice. Especially since you can just be yourself and that monster will show itself.”

“What? Lilly, how dare you! Are you the Bridezilla maid of honor?”

Justin laughed but didn’t say a word. He knew better.

Lilly laughed, holding up a hand as she finished her bite of salad.

“Hold on now. I just meant, you know how you have always said people misunderstand your assertive ways, your in-charge ways, as being bitchy. Soooo…”

Roni interrupted. “I know, bestie. I’m just giving you the hard time I was giving everyone today. But you’re right. It didn’t need to be a façade for long. The flowers weren’t quite right, but we figured it out. The cake needed my input on a few final touches, too. And my dress, well, it was perfect, but she told me it was going to cost extra for the veil. I was furious. We’d agreed it was part of the package. It took some convincing, but I brought my receipt. It was clear.”

“Anyway, enough about me…”

Justin interrupted. “Darling, it is never enough about you.”

“You do have a good point. Please remember that, honey bunches of handsomeness.”

They laughed.

Roni leaned back. “Really, though, quit stalling. I want to know about the writing and what you two talked about. Don’t leave anything out…”

“Listen, Roni, her attitude alone has shown so much growth. You’d be so proud of your girl.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Lilly, what is it?” Roni asked.

“Oh, well, he did give me positive feedback, but he also said my work still needs less explaining and more showing. I get what he’s saying, but I’m kinda clueless about how to not only recognize it, but fix it.”

Justin spoke up. “That’s some of the work she’s going to have to do on her own. Lilly, why don’t you show Roni the sentence we talked about and tell her where we left it?”

Lilly turned the laptop toward Roni.

“Okay, here is the sentence. Now the moment seemed even more vivid than the picture.“

Roni cocked her head. “Okay, so what’s wrong with that? I guess I need to read the entire piece.”

“Well, of course you will, but for now, let me try and explain. I don’t need a fancier sentence. I need the reader to better understand what I actually meant. I want the reader to feel how alive the photograph seemed. I’d already expressed that you could almost hear the women laughing, but I need more to make that clear without explaining it.”

Lilly looked at Justin. “Thanks to him, I understand the problem better. I’m just still not sure exactly how to fix it.”

She paused.

“But what Justin said earlier is true. I am excited to learn. To be more patient.”

Roni giggled.

“What’s funny, my lifelong pal?”

“Well, dear Lilly, I know patience is not your strong suit. So yes, this will be a challenge. But girl, I have never met anyone in my life as determined as you. Some would say stubborn.”

Lilly smirked.

“Seriously. I’m not surprised you turned your attitude around, and I won’t be surprised when you become one hell of a writer. Your superpower is your tenacity. You don’t give up on yourself, no matter what.”

“Justin, I know you mentioned the possibility of an internship, but honestly, I don’t think I’m ready. Not yet. I am ready to go back to Greg and the writing club, though. I mean, I still need to make a few adjustments to my piece…”

Justin nodded. “In fact, I agree. Your piece only needs small adjustments. I believe you’re ready to face Greg. And even if he says no, that’s okay. I know that’s not your ideal outcome, but a closed door only means you have more work to do.”

Lilly smiled. “And more patience to practice.”

Justin grinned. “Look at you.”

“Greg was clear. He advised me to write why I would be a good fit, but I didn’t do that.”

“I agree, Lilly. You didn’t.” Justin smiled. “But I think you did something better. You decided to show him.”

All three sat in silence, which Lilly knew was hard for Roni.

Just before it became awkward, Lilly took a deep breath.

“You know, you’re so right. I’ll just add a cover page saying something like this…”

She paused, thinking.

“I was prepared to tell you why I would be a good fit. Instead, I’m going to show you.”

Roni reached across the table. “Lilly, I was already the happiest woman alive, but now you’ve given me a little extra joy.”

A few days later, Lilly sat alone at the airport, her laptop bag tucked beside her.

She smiled as she thought about the wedding. It had been beautiful. So completely Roni.

As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look on her face as she gave me one last hug before getting into that decorated newlywed car.

I’ll miss her so much, but I’ll see her soon. She promised to come see me in a couple of months. *I love her so much. And that husband of hers has sure grown on me, too.

The announcement came over the intercom. Lilly’s flight was boarding.

Just after the seatbelt sign went off, Lilly opened her beloved laptop.

She grinned, ready to take on that one line. Maybe more.

She started reading her piece from the beginning.

To be continued.

One more bit to go…

Sending warmth and kindness.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Thirteen

Her grip on the steering wheel had softened, not like before. She drove with the window open, feeling the freedom of the air, matching the freedom she felt in every breath.

This is nice, she thought. Not fretting about the what-ifs or worrying about the hurt I’ll feel if he says my piece isn’t ready.

It wasn’t that she felt more confident. Something had shifted, though, and she wasn’t even sure it had anything to do with her writing.

She let it go and simply enjoyed the drive to the coffee shop she’d come to appreciate as a comfy place to be.

Justin was already there when she arrived. He stood, and she waved.

“Hi. And that’s not necessary. We’re like family now.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop with the formalities if you realize we’re like family now, too. Let’s use this time with as little unease as possible. Roni and I are both excited about your writing. I’d hate to think our time together feels like a test.”

“Oh, Justin, it’s a deal. To be honest, I’m glad we’re talking about this. I’ve been thinking about it since before I left the motel. I feel a shift, not necessarily with my writing, but with the critique of it. I’m actually excited to learn more from you.”

“Well, I hope so. That remains to be seen,” Justin teased.

They both laughed and sat at the same time.

“Well, let’s not waste time. Let’s see it. Why don’t you go order your coffee while I sit here and read? Sound good, Lilly?”

“Oh yes, especially the part about getting coffee. I may have been looking forward to that more than meeting with you.”

She turned, her smile widening. There she was, that familiar warm face.

“Hello. Good to see you again, ma’am. What can I get for you today? Your usual coffee with a splash of vanilla?”

How sweet. She’d already established not only a rapport but a go-to order the kind barista remembered.

She turned to walk back. Justin was still reading and jotting notes.

Oh no, this isn’t a good sign.

She stopped herself from going down that road.

Good. He’s going to give me tangible things to learn and work with today.

Her pace quickened.

Justin looked up as she took another sip.

“Well, Lilly, let’s get started. I do have some opinions. Let’s start with what I thoroughly enjoyed.”

Lilly sat up, then leaned in, ready to capture his every word. 

“Wait. Justin, let me grab my recorder.”

“Sure.”

He waited, and when she looked ready, he began, 

“Lilly, I see you took my advice. You stayed with the scenes longer, and honestly, I felt like I was right there with you in the shop. I almost wanted to be a bride just to experience what you were showing me. But I didn’t have to be. As a reader, I felt transported there, not only to the place, but into the feeling of it. I especially enjoyed the conversations between the women. I could see them.”

He watched her lean back, smiling so hard her cheeks flushed. She was beaming.

“Lilly, it tickles me to see you enjoying my positive feedback. Are you ready for the less-than-glowing review?” Justin asked with a smile.

Her smile stayed, but her tone shifted a bit.

“I think so, Justin. So please, give it to me straight. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Oh, not to worry. I know it isn’t always easy to hear, but it doesn’t help you as a writer if I hold back just to protect your ego. In fact, as I’ve said, the ego is one of the first things you’re going to need to let go of.”

He smiled.

“First, I’d encourage you to keep doing what you’re already improving at. You’re showing instead of telling, and that’s something new writers often struggle with. For example, here.”

Justin leaned toward the laptop and found the passage.

“She gasped. Her cheeks flushed as her clenched hands relaxed at her sides.” He glanced at Lilly. “And then you have her twirling and giggling. You didn’t tell me Helen was excited. You let me see it.”

Justin scrolled farther down.

“But here…”

He read aloud.

“Now the moment seemed even more vivid than the picture.”

Lilly’s eyes widened, her lips curling down just a bit.

Justin paused. “Are you okay, Lilly?”

“Oh yes, of course. Sorry. It’s just that I get frustrated because I want you to tell me what’s wrong. It’s hard for me to be patient with it. I always want you to get right to the point.”

“That’s fair, Lilly, and it’s exactly what we need to be addressing. Sometimes in your writing, it’s as though you want to get to the point. You want to be done. But patience is important. It’s the very thing I think is still lacking in this piece.”

“Okay. I can accept that I need to stay with a moment even more, but I don’t know exactly what that looks like or how to do it, Justin. So if I seem defensive or frustrated, it’s not because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know how to recognize what’s wrong versus knowing how to fix it. I still feel a disconnect.”

“Well, of course you do. You may have a natural gift, but good writing takes more than that. It takes work, learning, and a lot of trying.” He paused. “Are you up for the challenge, Lilly?”

“I am, Justin. Or at least, I believe I can learn how to be. I won’t lie. I’m afraid I lack the grit, but by golly, I’m going to keep going, one sentence at a time.”

She paused.

“Speaking of one sentence, Justin…” Lilly laughed. “Not to be impatient, but may we go back to that sentence? Can we continue where you left off?”

“Of course, Lilly.”

Justin pointed to the sentence.

“What did you experience that the photograph couldn’t capture?”

Lilly thought for a moment.

“Well, Justin, I liken it to the moment when a beautiful bride-to-be sees her image for the first time, and she and everyone watching know from the look on her face, this is her dress. When I looked at the picture, it was like the captured moment was alive and palpable within the picture itself.”

Justin nodded. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. But listen to what you just told me, and then look at what you wrote.”

He pointed again to the sentence.

“You wrote, ‘Now the moment seemed even more vivid than the picture.’ That’s not quite what you just described to me. You’re telling me the picture itself seemed to hold the life of the moment.”

Lilly looked back at the screen.

“Remember what you wrote just before this? You asked whether I’d ever looked at a picture of someone laughing and could almost hear the joy.”

Lilly’s eyes widened.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she said, pointing toward the screen.

Justin smiled. “Exactly. You already had it. Now your job isn’t to find a prettier sentence. It’s to figure out how to make me experience what you just explained to me.”

There was a pause. Justin’s face lit up as he quickly rose. Lilly looked back to see what he was looking at when she heard,

“Guys, sorry I’m late.”

Lilly looked at her laptop. It was 5:30 already. Where did the time go?

“Oh, no worries,” Justin said. “Darling, you always arrive right on time.”

“Oh, hush, Justin. You charmer. I wonder if you’ll be saying that ten years down the road.”

Lilly got up and interrupted.

“I don’t know, Roni. I’ve known you most of my life, and I’ve always thought you were right on time.”

“Oh, stop, both of you. Are you ready to go get something to eat? I’m starving. I have so much to share, and I want to hear all about how it went with you guys today.”

As Roni and Justin started their usual public display of affection, Lilly grabbed her recorder and whispered,

“I’m excited to try and make the reader experience…”

Lilly clicked off the recorder.

To be continued…

Just two more bits to go.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Twelve

The balcony had become such a sweet sanctuary in such a short time. She decided to move the motel table outside. Plenty of shade and a cool breeze.

Laptop, check. Water, check. Tummy full, check. Mission, check.

She didn’t need to go back to the bridal shop. It had already given her plenty to play with.

In fact, she’d been playing with thoughts of Helen ever since she’d left yesterday.

This was where she would begin.

Lilly placed her fingers on the keyboard.

The Enchanted Bridal Village.

At first, it felt like any other bridal shop, or at least what you’d expect. Yet, within minutes of walking through the doors, something about the place made my spine tingle with delight.

Was it the dresses? The conversations?

Or was it the three-way mirror?

The first time I’d stood inside the shop, I’d watched my best friend, Roni, step in front of it wearing a wedding gown. Watching her glow had felt magical. I thought it was because I was looking at someone I’d known and loved most of my life.

But then there was Helen.

When I returned to the shop, I heard the laughter before I knew where it was coming from.

A group of older women had gathered near the dressing rooms. I sat nearby, watching them until one of the women caught me staring.

“Hey, sweetheart. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m just enjoying your celebration.”

“Don’t be silly. Come sit.”

The other women encouraged me, too.

“Come sit with me.”

“Esther, you’re always collecting people,” one of them teased.

Margaret introduced them as her lifelong gal pals.

That’s when I met Helen.

She thought the whole thing was nonsense. She wasn’t engaged. She wasn’t even dating anyone. Still, at the urging of her lifelong friends, she disappeared into the dressing room.

A few minutes later, Helen stepped out cautiously and made her way toward the three-way mirror.

The same three-way mirror.

She gasped. Her cheeks flushed as her clenched hands relaxed at her sides.

She twirled once.

Then again.

And a third time, giggling as the gown swept around her.

Not a word came from the women at first, only sounds of delight.

Margaret couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Helen, you are so beautiful. The dress is pretty, but on you, it’s beyond stunning.”

The others quickly joined in, showering Helen with praise.

Helen stopped and looked at herself again.

Tears filled her eyes.

Her voice trembled. “Ladies, you were so right. I do look amazing. I’ve never looked this dazzling, even in my younger days.”

They laughed and agreed.

Helen looked around at her friends.

“Ladies, why is no one taking pictures?”

“You’re right! Lilly, would you mind taking a picture of us?”

“Sure. I’d be honored. May I ask a favor, though? I’d love a copy. I’m writing a piece, and I’d like to remember this.”

“Of course you can. And now the honor is ours,” Margaret said as the women crowded together in front of the three-way mirror, each of them smiling.

Just as I was about to take the picture, Esther spoke.

“Wait! I want to be the one in the wedding dress. I looked marvelous in mine, too.”

Again, the women laughed, but Esther didn’t seem to see the humor.

“Esther,” Margaret scolded, “we can take more pictures. Hush now and smile. This moment is about Helen, and by golly, she deserves every second of it.”

I took longer than I needed to snap the picture.

Each woman, even Esther, was beaming. They giggled like schoolgirls, unable to regain their composure.

“Ladies, get it together. I need to turn around and look at myself again,” Helen said.

They laughed even harder.

And it was then that I saw it.

I clicked.

I looked at the picture and quickly showed them.

“This is perfect, ladies.”

They crowded around the phone.

“Have you ever looked at a picture of someone laughing and you can almost hear the joy?”

Helen stood in the center, her eyes still damp. Margaret had an arm around her, Esther was caught mid-laugh, and the other women crowded close. Behind them, the three-way mirror reflected it all.

Now the moment seemed even more vivid than the picture.

I smiled.

Enchanted Bridal Village, indeed.

Lilly looked up. The weather was no longer comfy. Maybe it was time to go inside.

She kept reading.

She knew there were still places that needed work. She could spot some of them, but she wasn’t sure what was wrong or how to fix them.

Good thing I’m meeting Justin today.

She smiled.

Thanks, Roni.

She read it once more, then saved the document and closed her laptop.

She slung the laptop bag over her shoulder and grabbed her purse.

At the door, she smiled.

“Justin, here I come.”

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

The Clock Thickens

Daily writing prompt
What’s a conspiracy theory you actually find believable?

Oh, this is an easy one, and by the time you finish reading, you’ll be convinced too. Hear me out. Or rather, read me out.

You see, I am convinced that employers and calendar companies secretly remove several hours from every weekend and redistribute them across Monday through Thursday.

Most of the stolen time is given to Mondays. The clock moves slower. We feel those extra Monday hours in our bones. Our bodies sense the conspiracy, even when we cannot prove it. In fact, this is why Sunday evening brings the blues. We know what they have done, and of course, the lamenting begins.

Every Sunday afternoon, I set out to prove the missing hours. It seems to happen between noon and 7 p.m. I have set alarms to go off every hour, and then I count each one. Unfortunately, I have not been able to prove anything. But maybe my alarm is in on the conspiracy. Maybe the clocks have been fiddled with. All of them.

The proverbial “they” are out to make us work more hours without us knowing it. But I know, and dang it, so should you.

Have you ever noticed how Monday through Thursday seems to get shorter as the week progresses? However, I am suspicious of Wednesday. They wait until we get used to our workweek, then BAM, they throw a few extra hours into Wednesday.

Sneaky jerks!

Listen, every weekend I wake up early to ensure I have more waking hours. But it matters not. Time slips by at the speed of light.

I make my yummy yogurt concoction. It is filled with strawberries, blueberries, banana, pineapple, chia seeds, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds… sometimes walnuts. Oh, and…

Sorry. Where was I?

Oh yes, coffee made, a bowl of yummy sunshine and a good book in hand. I start reading, and within minutes, I am lost in the glorious moment. Then I look up, and hours have vanished. I kid you not. I have looked everywhere, and that elusive time is nowhere to be found.

Wipes tears.

This is so disheartening. How can they do this to us? We need to start a revolution, for crying out loud. How can they sleep at night?

Well, they probably use their extra hours to rest.

Ugh.

Attention, time thieves. We see you, and your time is running out.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Eleven

She didn’t feel defeated as much as weary as she leaned over to put on her seatbelt. The entire drive back to the motel was a blur. Though in the driver’s seat, she felt more like a silent passenger.

When she arrived back at the motel, she slowly made her way to her room and headed for the balcony to sit awhile.

That would have to wait.

The room had a jacuzzi tub, and right now, that was exactly where she was going.

She slowly sank into the warm water and rested her head.

“Ahhhhhhh.”

Jacuzzis had always been one of her favorite happy places. They never failed to transport her busy mind into one incapable of thought.

Her tummy rumbled.

Guess I’ll have to eat soon. I don’t know how, though. I can barely move and don’t want to.

She managed to wrap herself in the motel towel and make her way to the room service menu.

“Oh, look. A grilled chicken salad. Perfect. Wait, I know. A side of fries, heavy on the ketchup. Yummy.”

After ordering, she reached for her book but grabbed the remote instead.

While she waited for the food, she put on her favorite lounging jammies.

She was surprised by how quickly the food arrived. It had been thirty minutes, but she’d been lying there, lost in a delightful daze of nothingness. Awareness of time had left the motel room altogether.

She turned on a lighthearted comedy.

For the rest of the night, she laughed and smiled until she fell asleep before the show had even ended.

The next morning, she finally made her way to the balcony. Her coffee, still hot, warmed her hands in the cool, crisp air. A soft breeze danced through her hair.

She leaned back and propped her feet on the small round table in front of her.

Slowly, she took each sip and let the moment linger before she took the next.

Her attention drifted from her coffee to a nearby mockingbird.

It always amazes me how the sounds of birds in the fresh morning air never get old, she thought.

She sat there, breathing slowly, listening to the birds, when the sudden ring of her phone made her jump.

“Morning, Roni. How are you today?”

“Well, before I tell you how I am, I’m calling to follow up.”

“Huh?” Lilly said.

“Justin wants to know how your piece is coming and if you’re ready to meet again. Isn’t he the most thoughtful?”

“He sure is. But I’m not sure what our plans are tomorrow with your big day coming up. Time is flying.”

“Don’t remind me, Lilly. I still have so much to do.”

“Why don’t we wait until after the wedding?”

“That’s sweet, bestie, but I need to get Justin out of my hair for a little while.”

“Uh-oh, girlfriend. Not a good sign.” Lilly laughed.

“No, nothing like that.” Roni laughed. “How about tomorrow at the same coffee shop?”

Lilly hesitated as she looked toward her notebook.

“Lilly, are you still there?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry, Roni. Can we meet later in the day?”

“Sure. How about 4:00?”

“Perfect,” Lilly said.

“Oh, and don’t worry. Justin is there to help you. It isn’t a test, so just breathe and have fun with it. I can’t wait to hear all about it from both of you. I’ll meet you there at 5:00, and we can all go out to dinner. Sound good?”

“Yes, but Roni, I feel a little guilty. I should be helping you more.”

“Oh, hush. You know what a control freak I am. I’ve got this. Now go get ’em, writer extraordinaire.”

Lilly hung up and put her phone on silent.

Just a few more minutes, she told herself.

She leaned back again, listening to the melodies of the birds.

Lilly took a deep breath.

Now, where was I?

She picked up her coffee and took a sip.

Cold.

“Shoot.”

She shrugged. That was okay.

She sat there a moment longer until a pesky fly decided it wanted her coffee, too. She waved it away, laughing.

The woman in the ocean came to mind.

Then Helen, twirling in front of the mirror.

Lilly smiled.

Neither of them had been thinking about how the moment looked from the outside. They were too busy enjoying it.

She looked at her cold coffee, then out toward the birds.

For the first time in days, she hadn’t been trying to figure anything out either.

She leaped up, tingling with excitement.

“Alright, laptop. It’s time to try again. I’m ready. This is it!”

Settle down, Lilly, she told herself.

“No, I won’t. I love to write, and so I shall.

Not later, but now…”

Lilly’s journey is nearing its end, with just a couple more bits to go. I’m a little sad to see it end, but excited to see where she lands.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

Obituary in Plain Sight

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?

Today we gather to celebrate the passing of a longtime companion:

The Worry of Losing My Glasses.

It was born in my early years, about the same time I discovered there were actually leaves on trees instead of green blobs. That was also the beginning of what has become a lifelong, occasionally dysfunctional relationship with my glasses.

It put up a good fight.

There were frantic searches. Looking in the same place over and over, convinced that if I could just find my glasses, I’d be able to see where they were. Family members were recruited into the search because, naturally, my urgency should be theirs.

We must find them!

In time, however, I accepted the inevitable.

I am going to lose my glasses.

Frequently.

Sometimes they’re on my head.

Sometimes they’re hanging from my shirt.

Sometimes I’m actually wearing them.

To honor this new chapter, I invested in more than several leather eyeglass retainers in a variety of colors.

I once heard a comedian joke that people who wear those have officially made peace with remaining single.

Well…

I own dozens.

They match my outfits.

It doesn’t hurt that my one pair of prescription glasses happens to be bendable. I call them my Charli-proof specs. So when I inevitably fall asleep with them hanging around my neck, they’re still there waiting for me in the morning, ready to help me see another beautiful day.

The deceased is survived by the comforting knowledge that there’s no need to worry about losing my glasses.

Of course I’ll lose them.

Fortunately, my bright-colored eyeglass retainers usually help me track them down.

In lieu of flowers, please send more eyeglass retainers.

Red is always a good choice.

Oh No… Where Is It?

Daily writing prompt
What’s a quote that perfectly describes your outlook on life?

I know it’s here somewhere.

I just can’t remember where I put it.

I search the house, looking under cushions, peeking beneath the bed, retracing my steps, hoping something jogs my memory.

I close my eyes and dig through my mind, trying to picture the exact moment I last had it.

The longer I look, the more convinced I become that it’s gone.

Maybe finding it is going to take more energy than I want to expend.

Wait! I had it in the car.

Nope, it is not there.

What if it’s gone for good?

Maybe I should just give up.

Hold on, self.

Don’t give up hope.

Go sit outside for a while and let it go.

Deep breath.

What a beautiful day.

Look at those clouds.

Listen to those sweet little flying friends.

Now this was a brilliant idea.

(Pats self on the back.)

It’s funny how quickly my mindset begins to shift.

I find myself noticing the good all around me.

Then I think about a conversation I had with a co-worker earlier today.

I smile.

She really is such a blessing.

Wait…

What the heck?

Oh my gosh, you guys.

Sniff, sniff…

I found it.

It wasn’t under the bed.

It wasn’t in the car.

It had been with me all along.

It had been waiting for me in the brightest corners of my own heart.

Apparently, I’d been carrying my favorite quote around with me this whole time.

“May we never lose the desire or the energy, to believe there is more good to find in others, in ourselves, and in our tomorrows.”

If it speaks to you, consider it our quote now.

Favorite Quote

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite quote?

“True genius is in the follow-through.”

My mama has said that for as long as I can remember.

Before answering today’s prompt, I did what any curious daughter would do. I went hunting to see if she’d borrowed it from Edison, Einstein, or some other famous fellow who gets credit for everything.

No luck.

Apparently, the internet doesn’t know.

So until proven otherwise, I’m giving full credit to Mama.

Or maybe I’ve simply learned that arguing with Mama is usually a losing battle, one I don’t mind losing.  

Time after time, in chores, in showing up for work, and especially in returning to writing after I’d let it go because it got hard, I hear her words.

“True genius is in the follow-through, Babygirl.” 

That is her story, and I’m sticking to it. 

Oops… Mom and Dad.

Daily writing prompt
What’s a song lyric that has stuck with you forever?

Picture this: a carefree, probably a little reckless, sixteen-year-old driving down a small-town road toward home. A white Volkswagen Beetle. A blonde, curly-haired girl singing at the top of her lungs to the same song over and over: “Abracadabra.”

How I got my hands on that cassette, I’ll never know. My parents were pretty religious and definitely wouldn’t have approved. But somehow that tape found its way into my little Beetle, and I played it until I probably knew every crackle and hiss by heart.

Back then, I don’t think I paid much attention to what the lyrics actually meant. I just knew I loved them. At the time, those words were pretty provocative, but I didn’t even realize it. What a rebel, eh?  Yes, they reached out and grabbed me, and for a few minutes every drive home felt a little more magical.

I’m thankful for this prompt because, as I write this, I’m listening to that song again. It’s amazing how a few familiar notes can take you right back to a version of yourself you haven’t visited in years.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to sing along.

Endings Anonymous

Daily writing prompt
If you could rewrite any book’s ending, which one would you choose?

“Alright, quiet down, all of you. Especially you two, Jack and Jill,” the facilitator said.

Sherlock Holmes cleared his throat.

“I do have one question,” he said. “Why are they here?”

“Who?”

He nodded toward Jack and Jill.

“They’re nursery rhyme characters.”

“And?”

“This is a support group for literary characters.” He paused. “Standards ought to matter.”

Winnie-the-Pooh sat quietly in the corner, happily enjoying a small pot of honey.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking around the circle. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked to rewrite my ending.”

The room fell silent.

“Then… why are you here?” asked Gatsby.

Pooh smiled. “Someone said there would be snacks.”

“Attendance is voluntary,” she said. “Motives vary.”

Sherlock adjusted his chair..

“Clearly.”

“Welcome, everyone. Same rule as always. No judging endings.”

Old Yeller raised a paw.

“Excuse me… but I’m feeling a little judgy.”

“Nobody asked me,” Old Yeller muttered. “One minute I’m being a hero. The next minute… well, you know. I’d appreciate a second draft.

No one said a word.

Juliet quietly slid the tissue box toward him.

Without a word, the rest of the circle scooted their chairs a little closer.

“Every year,” Gatsby said quietly, “someone decides Daisy should have chosen differently.”

The room nodded.

“Would you want her to?” asked the facilitator.

Gatsby thought for a long moment.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if they’re trying to save me… or themselves.”

The room stayed quiet for exactly three seconds.

Then everyone started talking at once.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

“No, no, it’s because they can’t let go.”

“I still think mine deserved a sequel.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

The facilitator glanced at the clock and held up both hands.

“Alright, alright, one at a time.” She smiled. “Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have today.”

Scarlett O’Hara threw up her hands.

“What? I’d like to rewrite this meeting’s ending. I didn’t even get to speak.”

Pooh looked up.

“Wait… does this mean the snacks end, too?”

The facilitator giggled.

“Only until next week.”

Pooh nodded.

“Oh, good.” He smiled. “Still… I do rather agree with Scarlett. This ending could use a little editing.”

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Ten

Eager to try again, she didn’t want to wait.  This time would be different. She was ready to return to The Enchanted Bridal Village.

At each stop sign, her anticipation grew. She couldn’t wait to get there.

Would she see everything differently?

She paused at the entrance and glanced at the hours. Thirty minutes before closing.

Perfect.

Smiling to herself, she stepped inside. It felt less like walking into a bridal shop and more like stepping toward a new beginning.

The doorbell was louder than she remembered. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed it before.

The sweet lady in the front recognized her.

“Hello, Lilly. Nice to see you again.”

Lilly’s smile widened. “Hello. Good to see you, too. Would you mind if I just looked around before you close? I love it here.”

She smiled back at Lilly. “Of course. We love it here, too.”

Slowly, Lilly walked toward the dresses, taking everything in

Contagious laughter rang out.

Lilly giggled and looked toward the group of older ladies. Their enthusiasm lit up the store.

She looked around for a place to sit and observe them. They seemed completely unselfconscious.

“Helen, are you going to try one on?”

“I don’t know. This all seems so silly. None of us are getting married, Margaret.”

“Remember, Helen, it’s all in the power of yet. We are manifesting. Now get up and try on the dress. It’s waiting for you in the dressing room.”

Lilly smiled as the women laughed together. She couldn’t help staring at the tall, white-haired woman. Her olive skin and perfect posture gave her an elegant presence.

The woman met her eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m just enjoying your celebration. It’s fun watching you.”

“Don’t be silly. Come sit.”

The other ladies encouraged her as well.

“Come sit with me.”

“Esther, you’re always collecting people,” another teased.

“Don’t mind her. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lilly, and I truly don’t wish to intrude.”

“Nonsense. My name is Margaret, and these are my lifelong gal pals.”

Just then, Helen stepped out of the dressing room.

She looked puzzled. “Who do we have here?”

“Oh, never mind that, Helen. She’s our new friend, Lilly. Now let’s focus on you. Helen, you’re stunning. I knew this was the perfect gown.”

“Oh, posh,” Helen grunted as she stepped toward the three-way mirror.

She gasped at her reflection and immediately twirled.

“You’re right, Margaret. I look amazing!”

“See? Now isn’t this fun?”

“Well, I still think it’s foolish. I’m not even dating anyone. But yes… it is fun. A bit of a tease, but still…”

“Ladies,” Lilly interrupted, “the shop is about to close, and I still want to browse a little more. Thank you so much for letting me be part of this. It’s been such a pleasure.”

The women wished her well as she wandered back toward the dresses.

There it was.

She pulled out the dress Roni had chosen.

It didn’t look any different. Just as lovely as before.

Lilly slowly turned, taking in the entire shop.

The laughter.

The music.

The sparkle of beading beneath the lights.

Before leaving, she glanced back one last time.

Helen was still standing in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt of her gown before giving herself one more delighted twirl. The ladies erupted into laughter, cheering her on as though she really were a bride.

Lilly smiled.

They were completely inside the moment.

She noticed all of it.

And yet…

Why did she still feel like she was standing outside of it?

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

Into the Book

The morning was disappointingly hot already. She had taken her book out to the chaise in hopes of sitting outside, listening to the birds while she read. Just as she was about to go back inside, a cool breeze convinced her to stay a little longer. She smiled. This moment wasn’t lost after all.

She started reading.

Paul stepped closer, crowding the small space between them. Bekah’s shoulders drew in, her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said, not even bothering to look up from the file in his hand. “Details tend to overwhelm people in your position.”

Evana stopped.

Her eyes flicked back up to the paragraph, just to make sure she read it correctly.

“I don’t expect you to understand. Details tend to overwhelm people in your position.” Evana repeated under her breath, reading it again. Then, louder, “Oh that is absurd. You are an idiot.”

“I am what?”

She froze.

Her eyes slowly lifted from the page.

“No,” she whispered, already shaking her head. “No, no, no. That did not just happen.”

“You seem quite certain for someone who has yet to meet me,” the voice said again, closer this time.

She turned her head.

And when she turned it back…

He was there.

Exactly as she had pictured him.

She closed her eyes tight, then opened. He wasn’t with her, she was with him.

There he stood, but now even closer.

He leaned in too close. She could feel his breath. She refrained from stepping back. Heat was rising in her.

Her eyes did not shift. She leaned in this time. 

She put her hands on her hips. “The audacity.”

He laughed.

The heat in her rose even more. And for a minute, neither moved.

Then she took a deep intentional breath.

“Paul,” she said more calmly, “you are too close. Please step back.”

He laughed again, but this time, he complied.

He looked away from her and shook his head. “You women are so emotional.”

Exasperated, she said, “You have to be a created person. No real person would be this ignorant.”

“Lady, are you crazy? I am as real as the pages of the book.”

She was perplexed. He seemed to know he was written and still thought he was real. More than ridiculous, he was a research project.

Well, he isn’t wrong. Books are real, she thought.

She caught herself. No. Not going down his rabbit hole.

Feeling disoriented, she placed her hand against the wall.

“I am so confused,” she said.

“Yes, I definitely agree,” Paul said pompously.

She’d spent enough time on this jerk, she thought.

She looked around the room, urgency building.

There it was. The exit sign.

She started to run.

A strong grip held her arm.

She turned, ready to hit Paul if she had to, but…

It was Bekah.

Breathing hard, looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes.

“Please, Ma’am… take me with you. Don’t leave me with… him.”

May be continued…

Would you take Bekah?
What’s behind the door?
Does she get out?

He Brought the Balm

Daily writing prompt
Describe a positive thing a family member has done for you.
Not us, just a visual to capture the feeling

I was getting ready for Easter at the park. I was having a bit of a hard day. My brother called and asked me how I was. I said, “I’m okay.” He said, “You don’t sound okay.”

I started to cry. His caring touched my heart, and I felt free to be vulnerable. I said, “Every now and then, I find myself revisiting moments of insecurity.” Immediately, I felt embarrassed. He is strong, not someone I normally talk feelings with. I started to backtrack.

He must have noticed and said, “Listen, sis, breathe. Let’s first get in this moment, out of the past.” My brother, a PhD in science, was suddenly leading me through what felt like a meditation moment with Deepak Chopra.

Then he said, “You haven’t always had it easy. People, myself included, have been pretty mean to you sometimes.” He went on to say he was proud of my strength.

A release of pressure. I didn’t even realize how much had been contained. Comforting tears welled up.

At least with him, I felt free because his memories matched mine.

I have spent so much time trying to scrub memories, telling myself it didn’t really happen the way I remember, that maybe I was just too sensitive or seeing it wrong. His acknowledgment felt like medicine, a balm for some old hurts.

It wasn’t just about him. In that moment, it felt like he was speaking for all of it, saying, “I saw it too. It wasn’t in your head.”

And then, just like that, we slipped back into us. His wisdom, both of us overthinking and analyzing everything, and somewhere in between, our shared laughter. The call didn’t just comfort me, it shifted something in me. Not all of it, maybe, but enough to feel lighter.

Thank you, Brother. I am forever grateful.

Dreaming again

Daily writing prompt
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Since I’m dreaming, I let her keep a younger face.

Retired from my current job, living in a quaint little house that fits me just right. It already feels like home.

Oh yes, that’s it.

I’ve published two novels in my series and I’m about to release the third. I’m a successful writer. People love my books and want more. I love writing and want more.

I have a good work-life balance. I spend a lot of time in nature, often reading. I’m in good health for a 70-year-old. I travel a few times a year and see my family and friends often.

Life is good.

Stories Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part 9

Lilly’s arms were stiff. There was no abandon to her movement.

Her breaststrokes were slow and she kept looking back. She wanted to be out farther than all the people. She settled in one spot, dog paddling. She stared at the beach, her eyes darting back and forth as she waited. Nothing. Hmmm… She plunged under, spinning her body. Her head surfaced with her nose stinging. Ugh, she thought, I should have plugged my nose. The sun is burning. This isn’t working, not even a little. She continued treading water while her thoughts grew heavier.

She slapped the water and kicked her legs in frustration.

“Why isn’t it happening yet? I’m doing what she did. I’m literally mimicking her moves. Maybe I should just go back.”

She started moving slowly back to the shallow waters. She hesitated. She could almost hear her dad nudging her.

“Lilly, come on, we didn’t raise you to give up on yourself, especially not this quickly.”

With a big breath, she began again, going up and down, splashing water like a child. She paused to float on her back and took a few long breaths. The seagulls above were so beautiful. Then her eyelids closed and her body drifted with the current. At first, there was only blackness. Nothing. Just the sounds of the birds above and her breaths.

As she continued to float, her thoughts began to wander. She found herself thinking about the creatures of the ocean, how she had always found them intriguing, especially dolphins. Her mom and dad had taken her to swim with dolphins when she was a child.

The memories surfaced, more vividly as time passed. Her mouth turned upward, with a hint of familiarity.

A tingle ran up her spine as she began to slip back.

A pod was moving together, smooth and effortless. One popped beside her, inviting her to try a tail walk. She laughed, knowing she was playing.

Lilly began swimming like a dolphin; her head went up and down as she headed back toward the shore. She turned and took one last look out into the water. Waves hit her ankles, and her head leaned back. She closed her eyes again and took deep breaths. She’ll never forget the smile those pretend dolphins gave her that day.

Lilly stepped onto the warm sand, water trailing behind her, a soft smile still lingering. She brushed the sand from her legs and made her way toward her car. When her car came into view, her pace increased, but each step felt lighter.

The joy lingered as her fingers traced the wheel.

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers still resting on the wheel, her breath catching. She said,

Wait…

This is bigger than the moments of this day. Imagination made it feel real. I can use this when I write.

Maybe the readers can too… with my help.

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part 8

Today was all hers. Her laptop would have to miss her. Just for today, no writing. She grabbed her beach gear. She knew exactly where to start, a mango and banana smoothie at her favorite smoothie bar.

She took her first sip and grabbed a seat to take it all in while enjoying the treat. It was smooth, cool, and just right. She took a deep breath and listened and watched the seagulls. The pesky pigeons, stalking scraps of food with such diligence, captured her attention briefly.

Then laughter shifted her focus. Two kids were busy burying a man, likely their dad. The woman nearby was enjoying it a little too much. Lilly glanced over at a group of boys lined up against a small cement wall, watching the pretty girls go by. She giggled, noticing some of the women seemed quite pleased to catch their eyes.  One of the boys, though, was staring at Lilly. She quickly looked away.

Her eyes moved to the water. The urge to run in was strong, but the smoothie deserved another slow sip as she gazed further out. 

A lone figure caught her eye, farther out than the others. For a second, Lilly’s heart raced. Was she okay? Lilly lifted her travel binoculars.

A woman, grinning wide, popping under and back up again. She hadn’t seen a smile like that since her Mama. She floated, then disappeared and resurfaced, delighted, as if she’d discovered something down there.  Lilly’s spine tickled. She closed her eyes and smiled. 

The lady began to make her way in, slowly. 

Once she was just able to stand, a wave knocked her down. She tried again, only to fall again. Her laughter never stopped. Resigning her effort, she began rolling in. Lilly’s eyes widened. The lady was headed straight for a poor boy.  She knocked him over, but he was just fine. Two lady friends came running to help her. All of them laughing. They helped take off her cover-up that must have been weighing her down.

Watching the ladies walk away, another kind of wave began. Her Mama would have been the first one out there, hollering back for Lilly to join her. Tears wet Lilly’s cheeks. 

Until all at once, She got up wearing her Mama’s smile and ran towards the water. 

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

The Sweet Spot of 5

Daily writing prompt
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?

I pause to ponder. What would I want named after me? Gosh, that makes me think of so many things.

How about an orphanage named after me? Yes, because I’d quit my job and writing and get busy caring for children. A modern-day Mother Teresa. Not an ounce of selfishness, only selflessness. Talk about admirable.

Wait… that doesn’t work. I have too much selfishness in me to want to live in poverty. Besides, the very last thing a humble woman like this would want is recognition. Mother Teresa was such a legend. A huge part of me wishes I was that cool… until I start thinking about doing whatever I want on the weekends.

Hey, maybe a weekend named after me. Talk about being cool. I mean, who wouldn’t want that? Or is that too selfish? How about a holiday? What would it be… everyone has to be happy that day? Put away pain and suffering and find simple joys? No, that doesn’t work either. That would impose on people who are in real pain, who can’t put their suffering away like groceries.

Hmmm… so what is it? It has to be creative. It has to be somewhat original. Oh, that will never happen. Isn’t there a saying that every idea has already been thought of?

How about honoring laziness for a day? That plays on the weekend theme. It plays on the day of rest. Oh wait, God probably wouldn’t care much for me creating a new sabbath and naming it after myself.

So somewhere in between a selfless saint and a sloth machine… what could it be?

Oh, I know. The Charli Machine.

You step in, stand there for a moment, and choose your setting.

Set it to ten, and you walk out feeling the need to give, to care, to be super charitable.

Set it to one, and you leave as a sloth-like being, yearning to binge-watch Netflix on the couch.

But here’s the catch.

If you set it to ten every day, it stops working. Same with one. The machine isn’t built for extremes.

This apparatus functions best at 5.

Right in the middle. Not completely selfless, not completely selfish.

In fact, if you manage to stay at five for 30 days, you get rewarded.

That’s right, the Charli Machine is designed with us in mind.

Oh, you are going to love this.

You get an extra day off. No boss has a say.

Shark Tank here I come.

This Weekend Marks Something Exciting.

March 31st is the deadline to submit the first 5,000 words of a novel.

And I’m so close.

If you win, there’s a big $ prize… and something even more priceless, feedback.

I’ve wrestled with this for a while now. Changed my genre a bit, tweaked a little of this and a lot of that.

So now the question is, am I brave enough to do the final touches… and hit submit?

I know darn good and well the chances are slim. But I still think it’s worth taking the plunge.

So what’s the risk?

Not losing.

Getting in my head and deciding it isn’t good enough to keep going. To finish my novel.

Because I’ve already written more than 5,000 words… and I have so much more to go.

I’m not just writing a book. I’m learning how to write one while I’m writing it.

Boy howdy… is this a challenge or what?

Anyhoooo… I’m excited. I’ve been working hard, and it feels like something.

So my dear readers… I could sure use a prayer and some good thoughts coming my way.

Now You Have Witnesses

Daily writing prompt
What’s something most people don’t understand?

Something most people don’t understand?
That humor doesn’t follow the rules…
it shows up when you’re supposed to be behaving.

Ok, most know and understand all too well.

Being quick to speak isn’t always a win…
especially when you haven’t even processed the question yet.

A question pops up in a group chat, you answer fast…
and somehow your brain skips the part where it makes sense.

Now you’ve said something ridiculous…
in front of everyone.

Now you have witnesses.

The prize? A humbling experience. Rut roh.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Seven

They sat at a small outdoor café just minutes from the beach.  Lilly felt a soft ocean breeze tickle her skin. Sitting quietly at first, she traced the rim of her cup, her thoughts still heavy from the day before.

“Roni, I feel defeated. Maybe I am not the natural writer that I thought I was.” 

Lilly’s eyes began to water.

“Hey,” Roni said gently, leaning in. “Listen, my lovely friend… let’s change the subject. Let me tell you how I met Justin. I think it might help you. And if not, well… it gives me an excuse to talk about him.” She smiled. “Oh, Lilly, isn’t he something?”

Lilly took a deep, settling breath.  “Yes, Roni.”  She sat up and grinned. “Go ahead and tell me all about it.”

Roni began talking with a chipper tone.

Lilly had always admired Roni’s beauty, but she never noticed how Roni flipped her hair. She pulled it all forward. Then immediately she flipped it back, first the left side, then the right.

Lilly wondered if Roni ever noticed she did this.

She couldn’t contain a giggle.

Roni paused. “Why are you laughing?” Her eyes furrowed. “Normally our inside jokes include me.”

Lilly smiled. “You are so adorable. Happiness looks so good on you.”

Roni smiled. “Oh, okay… now where was I? I was walking the beach. You know how I love it.”

“Yes,” said Lilly. “Me too. I can’t wait until we can enjoy it together. Soon?”

Roni nodded.

“I was looking for treasures. Then there it was. The way the light reflected off it was stunning. You know how excited I get at the thought of finding a new pretty thing the ocean left for me?”

Lilly smiled. “I do, but what I want to know is where you keep them all.”

Roni laughed. “Girl, I’m telling you how I met the love of my life, and you want me to stop to tell you where I put…”

Lilly put her hand up. “Okay, no more interruptions. I want to know every bit of your journey with Justin.”

“All right then,” said Roni. “It was shimmering in the sun, and I just knew it was meant for me. I ran over and picked it up. It was a shell, and not an ordinary one. I had never seen one like this before.”

Lilly asked, “And so where does Justin fit in?”

“I will get to it, Lilly. I forgot how impatient you can be.”

“The colors inside the shell were so vibrant, a blue-green with golden specks that glistened. It didn’t seem real, Lilly.

“Oh, and I promise I’ll show you later.”

“And… well, I stood up, still gazing at its beauty.  I was so mesmerized by the trinket. I must have taken a step back, because… it happened. 

“Oh no, I was so sorry. There he was just lying on the sand, looking a bit shocked, maybe even miffed. I reached down to help him up, and when he stood, I dropped that shell. Lilly, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He and I just stood there for at least a minute.”

“You see, Lilly, that shiny shell didn’t just coincidentally catch my eye. Had I not been drawn to it, I would have never met Justin.”

She leaned in slightly, her eyes bright. “And it goes even deeper than that. What are the chances of you deciding to become a writer close to the time I happened to crash into a man who is an editor?”

Roni smiled, almost as if the answer was obvious. “I don’t think any of this is random. I was meant to be his wife… and you, Lilly, are meant to write. You just have to believe it.”

Lilly tried to hold onto that perspective. It did seem more than just serendipitous, but something in her hesitated. She wasn’t fully convinced yet that she was destined for writing.

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness

I Can Tell What You’re Thinking… Right? Of Course. I Know.

Daily writing prompt
What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?

I can always tell when I have figured it all out.

Every reason and motive reveals itself to me quickly, almost effortlessly. It has always been with me.

I know what the problem is.

And more importantly, I know how to fix it.

My loved ones know this about me. It is not exactly a secret in my circles.

I notice what happens when I start in. They roll their eyes. Not always big, dramatic ones, but enough. Enough to say, here she goes again. The wanna-be fixer. The one who thinks she can piece it all together and solve it.

They don’t have to say it. I can see it.

I continue anyway.

Because once I have it, once the pieces fall into place, it would be irresponsible not to share it, right? Of course it is. I know. The conclusions arrive right on time. It’s all there.

You just have to know how to look.

Recently, my granddaughter was telling me all about her dilemma. Before she finished her first sentence, I interrupted her, asking questions. Have you tried this? What about that? She sighed and said, “Mimi, please let me finish.” Oh, of course.

Carry on.

After all, I need all the data before I dive into the rabbit hole.

That’s the thing about this skill. It doesn’t travel alone.

Usually, just when my cape-worthy skillset kicks in, another one steps right up beside it.

My friends grrrr at this one.

But I know it’s what they need.

Because once I’ve taken something apart, I can’t seem to leave it there.

I have to find the better version of it.

The piece that makes it feel… not so heavy.

Sometimes, I’m just telling them what they already know…as if it’s brand new

The silver lining.

And yes, I’m fairly certain I can read their minds.

The growl confirms it.

Which is helpful, because I can fix that, too.

When Certainty Slips

It used to be simple. What you see is what you get. A picture doesn’t lie. Proof…or it used to be.

Real? Do we know?

Now everything can be adjusted, tweaked, polished until it looks just right. Wrinkles and so-called imperfections are things we shouldn’t be chasing to fix.

Don’t you agree, my lovely human reader?

Yes, we see it in faces, voices, moments… things that look right, feel right, but leave questions behind.
Not because everything is false, but because certainty isn’t what it was.

This is where we are now and it’s not all bad.

AI’s way of making things better is amazing, even mind-boggling. Let’s face it, it isn’t going anywhere. If anything, it will only get sharper. But I ponder… it seems to bring with it lots of suspicion to the human mind.

Well… here I go again, walking with AI, carrying a basket full of pros and cons.

So… Maybe it’s not about resisting it, but about learning to walk alongside of it. A cordial relationship, one that doesn’t replace what we are, but lives beside it.

I only hope we keep seeing the beauty in the human touch, though, flaws, frailties, messy thoughts and emotions.

All of it.

Because being human…

Is something AI can never be.

That Which Ticks My Tock

I was just sitting there, having a little too much fun in my own head…

Maybe I would work on my novel. After what happened this weekend, the thrill heightened, like it grew wings and decided it might actually fly. 

I met a criminologist and author, Susan Magestro, at a book festival. My granddaughter actually spotted her first. Finding her felt timely in a way I didn’t expect. She works in criminology and writes psychological thrillers, the same world my protagonists live in; I caught myself thinking this might actually help me understand them better. I am so excited to read her novel. She was a charming soul, especially when she said, “When you finish your novel, I want to buy your very first book.” What an honor.

But not today. I do not have the time. I really should edit Part 6 of Lilly’s story. I read it today and thought, why was I in such a rush to post it? I even hesitated last night. Reading it again, I can tell something is off, I just cannot quite name it. Nope, I will keep moving forward and keep that in mind with Part 7.

I know what I can do.

Today is a great day to respond to a prompt. They always tickle my desire to be creative. I have not done one in a while. I hope it is a good one.

But I cannot do another silly conversational piece. No animals or different beliefs talking amongst themselves. I must not allow my food to chit-chat, not even my taste buds can chime in. Not that I am leaving that behind. I will return to it, but I need to work those writing muscles with variety. After all, how can I grow if I limit the kind of writing I do?

Even as I say this, wait, why can’t I play with unique characters? I know the answer. I can, but I also want to see what else I might enjoy.

So, as I pondered different ways to be creative, I felt a surge of joy building, a tangible, palpable excitement about writing.

Ain’t it something, reader… how wonderful it is to do that which ticks our tocks, the things that have our inner dwellings dancing because they appreciate when we return to the thrill of writing?

This is my happy place.

This place is where I notice myself from within. It is like a painter who feels they were meant to paint and finally picks up the brush. I value writing and the writer in me, so when my actions line up with that, there is a kind of cognitive congruence.

It feels a little like hiking to a beautiful stream. The slope can be steep, the effort real, but the reward is in the view. I get to see something from within that both soothes me and excites me.

Many of you are writers too. You get it but humor me. I want to see if I can find a way to express what all that movement inside feels like.

I can feel an itch for movement with words. The music is turned up inside and now I yearn to waltz with my imagination.

The restless spirit that sometimes haunts me is put away and replaced with anticipation.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Six

Later that day, Lilly hailed a taxi, holding her finished piece. When the taxi driver asked where to, she just stared at him, unable to utter a word. She was excited, even more nervous.

Roni and Justin were already at Garden Terrace. As Lilly walked toward the back table, she grinned as she got closer to the soon-to-be-married couple. He was holding her hand, and Roni was laughing freely. For a moment, Lilly’s nerves settled. She saw how happy Justin made her best friend, and for a second, that was her focus.

Of course, the nervousness came right back as Justin said, “So, is this your travel piece? Roni told me you finished it already. I’m impressed.”

In all honesty, though, in Justin’s thoughts, a different story was playing out. He wondered if he had promised too much. What if, in his desire to please Roni, he ended up hurting her? He knew it could backfire, but he could not show it.

Lilly’s hands trembled as she handed him the piece. Roni grabbed her hand and said, “Sweet friend of mine, don’t worry. I know it is going to be divine because you wrote it.”

Lilly held her breath as she watched him read. He didn’t show any expression. He didn’t say a word until…

“Well, Lilly, you did a great job. I felt like I was in the dress shop. Your detail was crafted well. I really appreciated your thoughts as you listened to the nearby argument between the mother and daughter.”

“Really, Justin? I’m so happy. I was so nervous you wouldn’t like it.”

“I do, but Lilly, it can be better.”

Her expression shifted. “Better?”

“It lacks depth. Let me ask you… were you playing it safe?”

Her eyes furrowed. “Safe? How insulting. Lacked depth?”

Roni’s hand tightened. Then she released Lilly’s hand. “Lilly, stop it. You’re being rude. Justin doesn’t have to help you, and you don’t have to accept his critique, but I do expect you to show my fiancé respect.”

The table went quiet, the energy suddenly heavy.

“Okay,” Justin said, lifting a hand, “maybe I should’ve started with ‘you’re brilliant’ and worked my way down.”

He glanced at Lilly, his tone softer now.

“Constructive feedback only becomes useful when the writer receives it as guidance, not attack.”

Lilly sat back and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Justin, and you too, Roni. You told me a writer has to learn to take critique. I guess my ego is a bit fragile.” She hesitated, then added, “I just don’t understand. I wasn’t playing it safe… what do you mean it lacked depth? Will you please elaborate?”

“Yes, of course, Lilly,” Justin said gently. “And don’t be too hard on yourself. The learning curve is always uncomfortable.”

He nodded toward the room. “That moment with the mother and daughter was something. I felt it, but you moved on too swiftly.”

“Depth is staying with it a beat longer,” he added. “Not just what happened, but what it revealed. What did it say about them… or about you watching it?”

He glanced toward a nearby table. “See that couple? If you only tell me they’re arguing, I see it. If you show me how he won’t meet her eyes, how she keeps smoothing the same napkin… now I feel it at a deeper level. That’s the difference.”

“Justin, I think I understand. Instead of leaning into the tension, I moved too quickly to find a silver lining. I do that in real life… but in writing, I need to stay with it longer. Is that what you’re saying?”

Roni smiled. “It’s true. I learned a long time ago, Lilly’s favorite hobby is finding the silver lining.”

Roni glanced around the table and then back at them. “Speaking of finding what’s right, can we locate our menus? I’m starving.” She gave a playful shrug. “Now, let’s talk about something important… like my wedding.”

They laughed.

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

The Omen That Changed My Relationship Status

Last week my mirror broke. I started wondering, oh no, seven years is a long time. When does it start? I laughed and told myself that even if there is truth in it, I choose not to believe it.

Am I superstitious?

I try not to be. That is probably the most honest answer.

You see, I believe in God, and I believe we are not supposed to be superstitious. But I also believe my Lord is supernatural and beyond mortal comprehension. During the years I worked as a massage therapist, I studied many Eastern philosophies and found that, in my opinion, they are not far off. My Mama has a quote that I am partial to: “Man is merely stumbling onto God’s creation.” Bam, Mama. Well said. 

For someone who claims not to be superstitious, I do have one rather embarrassing exception.

The omen changed my relationship status. I once was happily single. Now, I am in a committed relationship. Almost every day I wonder, should I be with it today?

Yes, you read that right. I am madly in love with a thing.

I should be on that reality show “My Strange Addiction.” You guys, their tangy flavor, their crispy crunch, the thickness of each morsel have me yearning for more.

BBQ protein chips are perhaps one of man’s greatest inventions.

They are found at health food stores. Made with bone broth, eggs, and chicken. Good ingredients, right? Except for that dern processed factor. So they are a pleasure that only becomes guilty in my lack of control.

Portion size depends entirely on how many bags I have in the cupboard.

Over time, though, I began to notice something. The kind of small pattern people start to call an omen. One of those strange little happenings that seems to prove itself true more often than not.

If the chips appear, it must mean they are to disappear.

First, the bags seem to know they must be guarded. You cannot merely rip them open. They require tools. Scissors, to be exact, which is why I keep a pair nearby. As I begin the careful cut, the drooling sometimes commences. Occasionally I have to pause, wipe my chin, and regain my composure before returning to the task at hand.

I don’t just start eating. I gaze at them for a moment. There is a small sadness knowing the full bag will soon be devoured. I start slowly. The tart‑and‑sweet crispy crunch lands perfectly in my mouth. I chew carefully, trying to make this moment last.

Then the sacred moment turns on me.

The chips vanish. 

The bag becomes nothing more than a hollow reminder of what it once contained.

Wait.

I look inside.

And there they lie at the bottom.

A small pile of crumbs made just for my finger.

My Existential Animal Identity Crisis

Daily writing prompt
Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

This is easy.

I’m a lion, because I love to just be…

Lion interrupts.

“Are you serious? Lions are predators extraordinaire. Need I say more?”

Okay, okay. Ease up with the RAWR.

Alright, I’ve got it. I’m a turtle because I like to go slow and steady…

Turtle interrupts.

“Are you serious? Your thoughts fly at the speed of light.”

Okay, sheesh. That doesn’t mean I can’t slow down.

Turtle rolls his eyes and moseys slowly down the road.

Fine.

I know what I am. I’m an elephant. I’m loyal and I love my family.

Elephant interrupts.

“Are you serious? You like your alone time too much. But you can come play with us anytime you want.”

We giggle and set a future date.

Oh wait. I know.

I’m a horse. I have a long horse head and a free spirit.

Horse interrupts.

“Are you serious? You’re far too clumsy to be a horse.”

Well… maybe.

Then suddenly an otter pops up out of the water, floating on his back.

“I bet I know what you’re going to say next,” he chuckles.

“Oh?” I say.

“You think you’re an otter because we’re playful.”

Actually… yes.

The otter laughs.

“Are you serious? You analyze fun before you have it.”

Well. That seems unnecessarily accurate.

I sit down, discouraged.

I’m not strong enough to be a lion. Not slow enough to be a turtle. Too solitary to be a cool elephant. Too clumsy to be a horse. Too serious to be an otter.

Lion pffts from the side. Nothing is as cool as a lion.

The otter floats over and gives my shoulder a small splash.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re still invited to play.”

I smile a little, but I’m still not convinced.

So what am I?

Just then, a wise owl looks down from the tree and interrupts.

“You may not be as strong as a lion, but you do have fierce moments. You may not be as majestic as a horse, but sometimes you are a sight to behold. You may not move as slowly and methodically as a turtle, but you flow in your own beautiful way.”

“You, my silly friend, are trying to be things you can never be. Why not be the kind of animal that has its own coolness?”

I sit up, excited with anticipation.

Will he say I’m a dog? A fox?

The owl looks at me calmly.

“You are an animal like us,” he says.

Then he tilts his head.

“But you are the human kind.”

I nod thoughtfully.

Feeling rather enlightened, I turn to head home.

On the way, I trip over a thick patch of air.

Yep. Definitely human.

Aging Makes Scents

Daily writing prompt
Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.
Sniff, sniff.

Dear 100-Year-Old Me,

Well, look at you. One hundred years old. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been stubborn.

Persistent, you’d probably say.

Fine. Persistent.

Gosh, by now you’ve probably outlived most of our loves. I can’t imagine that sting. I was about to say I couldn’t do it…

You figure it out, you say. Same way you figure out most things. One awkward step at a time.

That sounds about right.

You want a hug from your younger self?

Of course.

What, I stink?

Sniff.

…Oh.

Oh my goodness, you’re right.

Relax, you say. You smell like someone still in the middle of living.

Well if that’s the case, why don’t you smell rank?

Oh, I do, you say. I just call it vintage.

Fair enough.

Tell me something. Are you still lucid, or are you a wee short of a full deck?

Young’un, you say, we never had a full deck.

That’s true. I’m pretty sure we lost most of the cards somewhere around forty years ago.

Maybe, you say. But we kept the funny ones.

Before I forget, any advice?

Yeah, you say. Don’t stop writing. Turns out it’s still our lifeline… and the only place we ever made any sense.

You know… that actually explains a lot.

Besides, you add, someone had to keep track of our nonsense.

Good. I was worried we’d forget the best parts.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Five

Early Morning Writing Hour

Lilly barely slept. She was too excited to get started. Before the sun had fully risen, she made her way back to the coffee shop she had visited the day before.

When she stepped inside, she noticed the beautiful blue apron the girl at the counter was wearing. The barista greeted her warmly, her strong Southern accent unmistakable. Lilly recognized her from the day before and found it curious that she hadn’t noticed the accent then.

She chose a table tucked farther into the corner. As she walked toward it, she noticed the back wall was painted the very same color as the barista’s apron.

As she opened her laptop, Lilly remembered the promise she had made to herself the night before. Tomorrow, I’ll notice everything, she had thought. Now she realized she was already doing it. The details appeared naturally.

Instead of struggling like yesterday, she felt a different curiosity.

Justin’s advice echoed in her mind: Don’t explain you’re a travel writer. Show it.

Lilly began to write.

Here is what appeared on her screen.

The memory of the bridal shop begins with my seat in front of the three‑way mirror, waiting for Roni, my best friend, to step out for the big reveal. In the reflection I could see more than dresses. The entire room seemed to move around anticipation.

Nearby, a mother and daughter were having a brief argument, and I had to hide a giggle. I imagined that this disagreement must happen often in a place like this. It felt less like conflict and more like two people deeply invested in one person’s future.

In the mirror I also noticed the attendant moving through the room, offering glasses meant to calm nervous brides and their companions.

I sat long enough to watch several brides and their small circles being served those liquid nerve‑settling drinks. Each time, the same transformation happened: shoulders lowered, smiles widened, and excitement grew brighter all at once.

Yesterday, as I was leaving, I noticed a charming sign outside the shop.

The Enchanted Bridal Village.

At the time I hadn’t fully grasped the charm of the name.

Now, remembering the glittering letters catching the light, I realized how perfectly the name described the hopeful energy filling the bridal shop.

After Writing

She read over her piece and smiled, not just because she liked it, but because she had enjoyed discovering the details along the way.

This time she closed her laptop without disappointment or frustration. This time she felt like a writer, and it felt right.

She hoped Justin would agree. She was pleased with what she had written, but would he be?

A small wave of nerves settled in. Both her future and Roni’s, in very different ways, now involved Justin. For Roni, he stood at the doorway of a hopeful love. For Lilly, he might be the doorway to the writing life she was just beginning to believe in.

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

My Favorite Mug


“Where’s my favorite mug?”

 

Even as I take my first step, the anticipation begins. Many things lose their appeal after we experience them often. Not the case with this morning delight. It deserves a special celebration each fresh day.

I did not select this beautiful mug that sweetly reminds me to lead with love. A dear friend did, and I think of her as I reach for it every morning.

This mug is not just any ordinary cup. I love everything about it: that it was a gift, that it is heavier than my other mugs, which makes holding it somehow more substantial. The weight is not so much that it is heavy, but that it is solid. That contrast with the liquid magic inside makes my lips curl upward.

The tingle awakens my spirit even before the first sip.

Even as my hands hug the toasty mug and I head back to my workspace or back to the comfort of my bed, my heart warms with appreciation. I find myself gazing at the little heart that pops with contrast against the burning red mug.

Even the kitty seems to know it is special, peeking over the rim as though aware something good is about to happen.

Coffee may not be completely universal, but most people I know understand the reward it brings. The thought of starting the day without it carries a small grief of its own, one I hope never becomes real.

When I saw the mug resting on my grand’s dresser, the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Hey, that’s my favorite mug.” But I thought about it afterward, and it is so special that denying her the same pleasure seems almost cruel.

This is why the mug matters, and not just a little. Its appeal reveals itself every morning as I gaze lovingly at her.

Three Monitors, a Messy World, and Returning to Gratitude

Not actually me, but it captures the spirit of the day rather well.

Something small, but super exciting to me, happened today.

I got a third monitor for work.

Now my big standing desk, the one I rarely stand at, is completely filled. Three monitors now sit across the desk, filling the space in a way that feels oddly satisfying and comfy cozy at the same time. Everything organized, icons cleaned up, switched from giant icons to medium like a responsible adult. It probably sounds silly, but it made my desk feel kind of… official.

Like I have my own little command center.

The monitors are just for work. My writing still happens on my laptop, and sometimes on my phone. For years it was only my phone. So much writing tucked into those tiny keys over the years.

But today, sitting there with my new setup, I felt a kind of pride about my job. The pay isn’t amazing, but I work from home, have great hours, and I genuinely like what I do. These blessings are not lost on me today.

Life outside the desk is a bit of a mixed bag right now.

Mama’s health isn’t great. My brother just lost his granddaughter. My sister had a house fire.

Also, several of my close friends are going through really hard seasons of their own.

So yes, the world is messy. Beyond my little corner of it, wars rage and political divisions seem to expand more every day, much like inflation.

But somehow, in the middle of all that, I feel grateful.

My granddaughter living with me has changed things more than I expected. She has pulled me out of my shell a little. I’m reconnecting with friends more. I even went out of town last weekend with my friend Deanna. My brother Bill, who I admire so much, has been staying in closer touch too.

It feels like something is shifting in a good way.

Another change I didn’t see coming is this: the TV is mostly off now.

For years, a lot of my free time disappeared into television. Now, I read more. I write more. Sometimes a lot more. It’s funny how a season of life can change without you planning it.

And honestly, the biggest catalyst has been my Mama.

She has told me since I was in the third grade that I’m a writer. For years she has pleaded with me to take it seriously. So recently I thought, while she’s still here, maybe I should honor that and see what happens if I try. I have shared her influence on my life many times, in my writing and in conversations. It is a very meaningful truth about my story. It keeps showing up.

That’s when this whole writing journey really started to take shape. Writing has become the place where my inner life and my outer expression finally meet.

I bought a laptop, started a website, submitted a few pieces. And now, I’m working on a novel.

Attentive reader, you may have seen me share these milestones before, but I have a soft spot for them. They mark the beginning of something important to me, and I believe they deserve appreciation. I find myself returning to them on weary writing days when I need a little inner pep talk.

Along the way, while working through all of this writing and learning, I also started using AI as a sounding board. A strange thing to admit, but it has been surprisingly helpful when I want to think something through. And yes, I know it probably tells everyone they are rare and special. I also know it is basically my coded therapist mirroring my thoughts back to me. Still, it works, and sometimes that is enough to help a person get unstuck.

Maybe that says something about me.

I’ve always been a little bit of a researcher at heart anyway. At one time, I wanted to be a research biologist. Now, I guess I just turn everyday life into research projects instead. People, experiences, questions, patterns. I’m always looking for the takeaway.

Recently someone told me my positivity is “toxic.”

“Hey, if looking for the right in a pile of sludge is considered toxic, then maybe being a little muddy isn’t so bad.”

Maybe that’s just how I survive the messy parts.

And right now, messy or not, I appreciate this season.

Three monitors sitting across my desk. My laptop rests beside them, still holding a pile of half-finished stories. A house that somehow feels a little more alive than it did a year ago.

It was about that time I decided to take her words seriously and finally try. That decision has altered my days in ways I never expected.

Thank you, Mama, for believing I was a writer long before I did.

The Question Lurking in the Reader’s Mind

Daily writing prompt
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
AI…is that you?

It is not even a question spoken out loud. It is simply one people are thinking.

Did AI write this?

Just between you and me, reader, how many times have you started reading something and thought, “This is AI”?

I ask because I catch myself doing the same thing.

It seems to be a common reflex now. AI shows up everywhere, in reels, images, and increasingly in writing itself, so suspicion has become a byproduct of the tool. We see a crisp photo of a tiger, and someone immediately says, “That’s AI.” Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. It is a shame, and I don’t want that doubt to surface with my readers.

I will confess I do use AI, and I even love it. But before you start rolling your eyes or assuming I let it write for me, let me be clear: I don’t. I use it as a teacher and as an editor. I have always enjoyed editing my own work, watching a rough piece slowly take shape. What AI can sometimes do is help me see a sentence with a more trained eye so I understand why something works or does not.

I say, “Put your teacher hat on. No generating text.” I want guidance. I want to learn craft, not bypass it.

The truth is, I see its advantages. I see how it can teach, guide, and accelerate learning.

But I am not oblivious to the potential pitfalls.

I worry about a future where writers feel replaced instead of sharpened.

The more I work with AI, the more I notice something important: it has limits. Those limits may change as technology develops. But for now, they are there, and they remind me that learning the craft still matters. I do believe, and maybe this is me just hoping, readers will always want the human touch.

I know when something is my voice. I can feel it. I can hear it when I read it back.

But can others?

Recently I wrote a piece and ran it through an AI detector just as an experiment. The result was mixed. Some of it was labeled human. Some of it was labeled AI.

Wait, what the heck?! It was all mine.

Which left me wondering.

Do writers now have to look a little less polished to be believed?

As I write this, I remind myself that I could give diddly squat of what others think of my writing. Ok, just a little. Ok, a lot. But I know I am still doing the thinking, wrestling with ideas and sentences. I love crafting. It is a fun place to go, and it is something I value.

So maybe I am wrong to hate the thought of others thinking I use AI. I do use it, but as a tool, not something I outsource my thinking or creativity to. I am still doing the work, and honestly, that seems like a good idea. Don’t you?

They All RSVPed Before the Invitation

Daily Prompt: Do You Believe in Fate or Destiny?
I may be late to the prompt… but they all showed up anyway.

I am so excited. They will be here any moment.

Wait. What is that in the dining room?

They cannot be here yet.

“What are you all doing here?”

Free Will crosses her arms. “I tend to show up on my schedule, not yours. You know that.”

True. you do.

“And you, Coincidence,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “I’m impressed you showed up at all. Even when you promise, something always seems to come up.”

Coincidence shrugs. “Hey now. I just happened to run into Free Will earlier. Pure chance. She decided to bring me.”

“Of course,” I mutter. “That makes perfect sense.”

Fate, already seated beside God, smooths something dramatic over her knees. “I had to arrive before Free Will. She always thinks she is in charge. Without me, most of her plans would be thwarted.”

God nods once. “She is not entirely wrong.”

I turn. “And you, Timing?”

Timing looks offended. “How dare you presume I am early or late. I am always right on time.”

“Well,” I say, glancing around the table, “I’m glad all you metaphysical forces joined me this evening. And God, of course. I certainly should have known you’d arrive early.”

“Ahem,” Timing gruffs.

“Oh. My mistake. Except for you. And God, of course. You’re always on time.”

“Well, crew,” I say, clapping my hands once, “are you ready to eat? I believe you’ll enjoy it.”

Immediately, an argument starts.

“I insist that I be served first,” Free Will declares. “After all, I am the only one here not obliged to any of you. I do what I want and when I want.”

God shakes His head slowly. “Oh my. Did I make a good choice with you?”

Fate lifts her chin. “Sorry, Free Will, but I have already been served.”

Timing leans back. “You’ll be served when it’s time.”

Coincidence, meanwhile, has taken the nearest plate.

“Things don’t happen by mistake,” Coincidence says, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb. “Right, God?”

God says nothing. He only smiles, as Coincidence always seems to amuse Him.

Fate dabs her napkin. “I just know a surprise guest is coming. And it will happen before dessert.”

Free Will straightens. “Another guest? Without my approval?”

Timing studies his invisible watch, as if wondering whether Fate remembers who determines the hour of arrivals.

Coincidence is busy fumbling toward the mashed potatoes. They were prepared for him. His favorite.

“Ugh,” Free Will mutters. “What is he doing?”

Just then, Coincidence knocks over a candle.

“Inevitable,” Fate says.

The doorbell rings.

I light up. “She’s early.”

“I told you so,” Timing says, straightening. “Why does no one ever believe me? You know, it really is all about tim…”

“Oh, shut up,” Fate interrupts. “If it is destined to happen, it will happen.”

Just then, Destiny walks in.

“Yes,” Destiny says calmly from the doorway. “I am definitely going to happen.”

God chuckles.

Destiny looks around the table and tilts her head. “Is this my seat?” she asks, pointing to the empty chair at the end.

Free Will scoffs. “You don’t get to just walk in and choose.”

Timing adjusts his invisible watch. “Technically, she arrived exactly when she was supposed to.”

Fate smiles faintly. “I did mention her.”

God pats the chair beside Him. “There is plenty of room,” He says warmly. “We always make room.”

Destiny shrugs and sits, as if she knew she would all along.

Coincidence reaches for the mashed potatoes again. “So… was I early, or was that part of the plan?”

God chuckles.

I clear my throat. “All right, everyone. There is a reason I invited you here. I have some great news.”

God smiles softly. “I know.”

Fate nods. “Just as I suspected.”

Free Will pushes back her chair and stands. “You should have consulted me. What if I don’t like your news?”

“Free Will, don’t be upset,” I say gently. “I had you in mind when I decided.”

Free Will hesitates, then slowly sits back down. “Well then,” she says cautiously, “what is it?”

I glance around the table. “Maybe I should wait until after dinner.”

“Noooooo,” everyone protests in unison. Everyone except God.

“What is it?” they demand.

I take a breath.

“Believe it or not,” I say, looking at each of them, “you are all involved.”

“Okay. Here it is…”

“I have decided to write a story about all of you.”

God smiles knowingly. “I know. I also know how it will end.”

Immediately, the table erupts again.

Free Will leans forward. “You can’t know the ending.”

Fate folds her hands calmly. “Of course He can.”

Timing adjusts his invisible watch. “Technically, we’re not there yet.”

Coincidence drops a fork. “Did someone say ending?”

God just chuckles.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Four

Lilly woke before sunrise, the opportunity from the night before still pulsing in her chest. She slipped quietly out of Roni’s apartment with her laptop tucked under her arm and found a coffee shop a few blocks away.

It was still dark outside. Only a few early customers sat scattered near the windows. When she ordered and chose a small table near the wall, she eagerly opened her laptop.

This should be easy, she told herself. Just observe and write about what you see. 

She began:

The city is alive, already moving before the sun rises. Local cafés open their doors early. Quaint shops surrounding the café cater to tourists, their windows filled with souvenirs and local crafts.

She read it aloud.

The words sounded interchangeable. Like something that could describe any city. If she were reading this on a travel blog, she would close her laptop a few sentences in.

She knew because she began to close her laptop halfway and whispered, “No.”

After a breath, she opened it again and pushed harder:

The city pulses like a restless heart, its streets throbbing with the urgent rhythm of human ambition before dawn even breaks.

She stared at the screen.

It was worse.

Irritation turned inward. Maybe her dad had been right. Maybe passion and ability were two different things. She looked at the paragraph as if it were evidence. The spiral began.

Roni’s text came at just the right time.

“Lilly, we have so much to do. Where are you?”

Lilly straightened her shoulders. Whatever this paragraph suggested about her future could not show on her face today.

Today, the floral boutique awaited their prompt arrival.

She shut the laptop fully and headed back to Roni’s. 

The scent of lilies reached her before she crossed the threshold. Their bold perfume filled the entrance, impossible to ignore.

Further inside, carnations. She leaned in automatically, catching a whiff of their subtle, slightly spicy aroma.

Then she noticed the unmistakable Mr. Lincoln roses with their distinct, commanding scent.

For a moment she stood there, letting the layers of fragrance settle, the room alive with color and variety.

“Hey, Lilly, I need you,” Roni called, holding up two bouquets. “Which one? The bright white or the ivory?”

Lilly stepped closer.

“The bright white,” she said first. “It matches your dress. It’ll look clean in the ceremony photos.”

She touched the ivory petals.

“But this one,” she added, “it’s softer. It would feel warmer at the reception.”

Roni studied her for a second longer than usual, then smiled. “That’s why I brought you.”

Lilly shrugged. “Yes, you do need me,” she said, and they shared a quick giggle. As Roni’s attention moved back to the florist, Lilly’s eyes drifted to her hands. They were strong, muscular hands that moved with surprising softness as she handled the stems that had left their marks on her skin.

She followed Roni out of the floral boutique, the scent of lilies still clinging faintly to her sweater.

The afternoon was moving quickly now. There was one more stop before lunch.

Lilly slid into the passenger seat, delighting in Roni’s excitement. She talked fast, unable to sit still. Lilly rested her hand on her knee and said, “Settle down, beautiful bride-to-be. There is more to come.”

Lilly held Roni’s hand as they walked into the dress shop. They let go at the same time as a young fair-skinned woman welcomed them, holding two glasses of wine. Roni’s enthusiasm once again could not be contained. Just before she grabbed the drink, she jumped and squealed like a child in a candy store. Lilly had never seen her this happy. After a few moments, an older woman approached. She clearly knew Roni. “The time is now. Are you ready to try it on?” she asked.

The two disappeared behind a curtain while the younger attendant guided Lilly to the best seat in the house, a large, soft chair positioned in front of a three-way mirror. Lilly leaned forward, anticipation tightening in her chest, when she heard the outbreak of frustration. A mother stood firm, insisting on the dress she felt most proper, while her daughter stomped in protest. “Mom, I knew I shouldn’t have brought you. This is my dress, not yours.” Lilly chuckled to herself, thinking how often that line must echo between mothers and daughters.

Then there she was. The silk clung to her curves, thin pearl-wrapped straps resting against her bare shoulders. She turned slightly, and in the mirror Lilly caught the sweep of her open back. It wasn’t modest, but it was tasteful and elegant.

Roni’s voice trembled. “Well… don’t just stare. Is it the one? Is it perfect?”

Lilly swallowed. “Bestie, I have never seen anything more lovely,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek.

As Roni disappeared back into the dressing room, Lilly studied the three-way reflection. Mannequins stood behind her, one in a mermaid silhouette, another in an old-fashioned princess gown. The mother and daughter were still squabbling. Every detail in the room seemed to offer itself up.

She stood. Her breath quickened.

The pieces aligned.

Out loud she said, “That’s it. Tomorrow I’ll…”

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

Hobbies Are Like Nature: They Are Food for the Soul

Hobbies are like a patch of wildflowers that somehow connect with the deepest part of the soul.

Sit beside a babbling brook and, within moments, your mind and body start thanking you for the reprieve, lavishing warmth and coziness as if you’ve slipped into the safest, most beautiful place you’ve ever known

Some days in nature, you spot a hill just over there, the one you’re certain holds a spectacular view. So, you take the incline. Halfway up, you stop and rest, soaking in another moment of tranquility before venturing on because the vista never fails.

A hobby is like that.

It quenches the thirst for sanctuary. Sometimes like the reprieve of a babbling brook, bliss rises quickly to the surface. Other times the serenity must be earned

You don’t even have to be good at it.

Wildflowers don’t wait to be exceptional before they bloom.

A hobby is nature in your own hands.

Pssst… are you busy? I’d like to talk with you.

Daily writing prompt
What advice would you give to your teenage self?

I’ve been watching you for a very long time. I am so sorry that I didn’t tell you this sooner. I love you, and I also like you. You and I are actually very fun to hang out with.

You laugh, I like that. You look so cute when you smile. 

Now my visit isn’t all fun and games. I see you suffer much more than you need to. You don’t deserve the treatment you give yourself sometimes. 

Now lean in and listen. It took me a long time to figure these things out. 

You are not self-absorbed. You are self-scanning. There is a difference. You learned early to read rooms, to brace for exclusion, to look for the moment you might be picked last. That awareness helped you survive, but it does not get to run your whole life. No need to audition, baby girl.   

Most people are thinking about themselves too. Wherever we go, there we are. You just zoom in tighter than most. Your feelings are valid, but they are not always evidence.

Sometimes you are not being rejected. Sometimes you are tired, hungry, or have produced another episode of “The Tragic Life of the Girl Who Was Picked Last.” Hey, that is pretty creative, but it is not always a true story.

And sweetheart, do not take yourself quite so seriously. You are allowed to be a little dramatic. Just don’t build a whole identity around it. So instead of asking, “Am I their cup of tea?” ask, “Are they mine?”

And no, do not shrink your warmth to make it rarer. Your warmth is not a strategy. It is a trait. You know what cold feels like, so you choose to be warm. Keep that.

Just remember, not everyone wants a hug. Loving people well also means respecting their space. Warm does not mean overextending. It means genuine.

You will get rejected sometimes. Everyone does. You will get back up. You always do. That is one of my favorite things about you.

Would you agree, younger me, that you study rooms to see who is naturally glowing and wonder why your light feels dimmer?

You nod.

Look at us, nodding in unison.

It’s because I understand.

I choose you. And I see your sparkle.

Do you?

You know how you are always calling yourself a misfit?

You smirk. “Yeah… you’re one too, huh?”

I laugh. Fair.

One day, hopefully soon, you will see it is actually an impressive thing to be.

One more piece of unsolicited advice. Finish what you start. Do not give up on yourself so quickly. You will be tempted to. Do not.

Okay, enough of all this lecturing. Neither of us are fond of that. And I know you have never liked being told what to do. Some things do not change.

And hey, if you decide to ignore every bit of this and roll your eyes at me later, I will still love you exactly as you are.

Come here.

We hug. A real one. You squeeze first. I squeeze back harder.

Now let’s grab something warm and sit for a minute.

We start walking.

You bump my shoulder, testing to see if I’ll bump you back

“Hey… I know you already know this,” you say, staring at the ground for a second, then glancing up at me, “but do you think maybe… I’m going to be okay?”

I smile.

“Oh, most definitely,” I say, nudging your shoulder back. “You’re going to be more than okay.”

We keep walking.

Tomorrow Is Today: Wrestling with the Sentence

Yesterday, last night specifically, I opened my laptop not to answer a prompt, not to write a short story or a reflective moment, but to work on my novel in progress.

It is harder work. It requires a skill set I am still developing as I go. It is exciting and also so stinking hard.

I closed the lid on my writing contraption and said, “Who am I kidding? I can’t do this. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much.”

Naturally, I justified my melodrama.

“If I keep writing this, or even trying to, I will lose all the joy I reap from less challenging pieces. I must quit and accept my limitations.”

Very noble. Extremely dramatic.

Then another voice, slightly irritating and still mine, chimed in.

“Woman, remember your bucket list? The one you shared? I thought finishing this was number one.”

Rude.

Eventually, all my inner ramblings gathered into one reluctant conclusion.

“Fine. Dang it. I will get back on the writing horse tomorrow. Even if I wrestle with one sentence all day, I will not give up on myself. I can do hard things.”

The melodrama did not entirely cease. After all, I am me.

But tomorrow is today.

So, this is my public pep talk.

It may be challenging. It may be daunting. But I am going in. I will flourish, if only in the effort.

Now quit procrastinating. I see what you are doing.

Oh Laptop, Scribbles, as I affectionately call you, I am back.

The Infamous Milk Shortage Penalty

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite drink?

We meet in the kitchen, especially in the evenings when the chances are high that we’ll find each other there.

My oldest granddaughter, my new roomie, is usually already present. If she hears me moving about, she joins me. We visit, share a hug and a kiss, and giggle about the happenings of the day.

But we both know where this is headed.

One reaches for the gallon, the other for two glasses.

Our system is simple and civilized: no one drinks the last of the milk without issuing a restock warning. Peace is preserved that way.

The trouble begins when there is only an inch left at the bottom.

We both see it.

We lock eyes.

A silent stare down follows.

Two responsible adults stand before the refrigerator, staring at what remains, neither willing to be the one who crosses the line.

We both know what this really means.

The Infamous Milk Shortage Penalty is now in play.

Who let it get down that far without ordering more milk?

The Humans I Keep, and Who Keep Me Too

Daily writing prompt
Who are your favorite people to be around?

My favorite people are the ones who make me forget I was ever worried about anything five minutes ago.

I have one friend who picked me up for a road trip. She was coming from Utah, and I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years. On our way out, we stopped at Taco Bell. Within the first minute of sitting down, we were laughing to tears, almost choking on our first bites. I have no idea why we were laughing and it doesn’t matter. That’s kind of the point. Don’t get me wrong, our time is not always laughter, but it is always cherished. She has a way of making me feel chosen. 

I like feeling welcomed, not tolerated. And I try to return that gift just as freely. With my people, we can arrive as‑is.  I never want to feel like a burden, and I don’t want them to feel that way with me either. It settles something deep in the nervous system. Shoulders drop. Breath evens out. It’s therapy on a friendly budget.

One comes to mind. She has always been there.  She is my root friend. She shows up offline and on. She even reads everything I write, which is its own kind of loyalty. We can be lazy lions together. We both like chilling and visiting, giggling and pondering. We share small talk sometimes, but we can go into the deep waters too. That works because we both love swimming, literally and conversationally. We don’t have to keep a conversation going, and yet somehow, we always do.

I love being in the company of interesting people who don’t mind questions, giving and receiving. It feels like a privilege when my people share the good, the bad, and the everyday in-between. The best friends are the ones who stay curious about your life and invite you to stay curious about theirs too.

I have one friend close by, and we are heading out on a road trip soon. She is definitely a keeper. Why? Like my others, she is someone I admire. She is steady where I can be scattered. Thoughtful where I can overthink. She challenges me in a way that feels strengthening, not shrinking. We laugh, we plan, we detour. And I already know the miles will go quickly because that’s what good company does.

As lovely as my people are, no one is perfect. We get on each other’s nerves from time to time. It is inevitable. Give two humans long enough and someone will chew too loud, overthink too much, have a tone, hit a nerve while teasing, or try to instruct when no instruction was requested. It happens. That is just part of the package. The trick is loving the whole package anyway, even the fine print.

While today I’m shining a light on my gal pals, my gratitude always stretches wide enough to hold my amazing Mama, my darling, scrappy daughters, and my beloved grands too. With them and my siblings too, there is never enough shared time.

I am blessed with each and every one of them, but I also like my time. Where sharing takes a rest. Hanging out with me, myself, and I is where I spend most of my time. So, it is good, even healthy, to enjoy my own company. And when I get on my own nerves, I consider calling one of my favorite people so I can get on theirs too… but I try to pace myself. Even favorites need recovery time.

Look Where You Led Me

Once, a curious writer found a small envelope tucked inside an old book. The note inside read, “Your next adventure begins… will you follow the trail of glowing fireflies or the echo of a distant waterfall?”

The inquisitive writer wanted to just sit down and watch the fireflies. They were so beautiful. But they were heading somewhere, so she followed them.

It felt like only a short time had passed when she noticed the tiny lights settling on one tall, majestic tree. She looked up in awe as she walked closer and closer.

Then she saw it.

Another note attached to the tree.

The writer paused before reading it. She was thirsty and tired, so she sat down and leaned against the tree before unfolding the note.

It read, “I am glad you are here. You have been seeking long enough. Let the quest cease for a moment. The fireflies led you not to movement, but to stillness. Sit a little longer. The waterfall is just ahead, and it will be more magical because you paused. The echo is closer now. Listen before you rush.”

She lowered the paper and sat there, listening to the steady cascade of water.

As she rested against the tree, ideas began to grow within the stillness. The fireflies and the waterfall were not destinations after all, but inspiration. Exactly what she needed to plow through her writer’s block with a wrecking ball.

She never did make it to the waterfall that night. It would have to wait.

The fireflies seemed almost in sync as they guided her back toward her cabin. The desk that had brought so much frustration earlier now glowed with the same intoxicating shimmer as the tiny lights in the trees.

She sat down, took a deep breath… and the story began.

Turns out, you led me exactly where I needed to go.

The Grandchildren Clause: My Approach to Budgeting

Daily writing prompt
Write about your approach to budgeting.

Stock photo. The MiMi Clause, however, is very real.

I always start out very intentional with budgeting. I make a plan and by golly I am going to stick with it this time. No budging allowed. I am a resolute warrior on a mission to save my pocketbook.

And then one of the grands says, “Mimi…”

That’s it. That’s the whole turning point.

The budget doesn’t gently rearrange itself. It collapses. Suddenly there are snacks, craft supplies, an emergency stuffed animal situation, and something called “just this once” that appears repeatedly. I’ve come to accept that my spreadsheets operate under a Grandchildren Clause.

It’s not poor planning. It’s Mimi math.

Stories, Bit by Bit: Lilly, Part Three

Lilly stepped off the plane, reminding herself this had been Roni’s idea from the start.  This trip was about Roni. 

Roni spotted her first and ran straight into her arms.

“You’re finally here!”

“You say that like I had options,” Lilly laughed.

“And I would do it again,” Roni said without apology. “Come on. I want you to meet Justin. I may have talked about you a little.”

“A little?” Lilly narrowed her eyes.

They found him near the exit, holding Roni’s coat, watching the crowd in that quiet way some people do, studying passers-by like research projects.

“Lilly,” Roni said, glowing, “this is Justin Collins. He works as a features editor for a city magazine here. The one I told you about.”

Lilly looked between them. “And your fiancé too, right?”

Justin laughed first. “Yes. The best headline of my life.”

Roni nudged him. “See? I told you she was quick.”

Justin offered his hand, steady and warm. “I’ve heard you’re at a crossroads.”

Lilly shot Roni a look.

“She may have filled me in,” he admitted. “Best friend briefings are thorough.”

Roni grinned. “You’re welcome.”

They started walking toward the parking garage.

“So,” Justin said casually, “Roni mentioned you’re switching into journalism. Travel writing caught your attention?”

“I’m trying to figure out if I’m brave enough to say that out loud,” Lilly answered. “Right now, I’m just trying to survive an assignment explaining why I deserve to be in a journalism club.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “The persuasive essay disguised as destiny.”

She laughed despite herself. “Exactly.”

Roni glanced between them. “She’s always written, you know. Even in college, she rewrote half her professors’ prompts just to make them more interesting.”

Lilly groaned. “Please stop helping.”

Justin’s eyes sharpened, not critically, just attentively. “What kind of writing have you done?”

“Local paper features. Nothing huge. Some opinion pieces and many incomplete drafts.

“Unfinished drafts are honest,” he said. “It means you care enough to wrestle with them.”

She blushed a little, knowing he was encouraging her, but she felt exposed.

Roni noticed at once. She slipped her arm through Lilly’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” she said softly, just for her. “You don’t have to have it all figured out this weekend. You just be you… and be the best maid of honor ever.”

“And what’s holding you up on this paper?” he asked.

“I’m trying to prove I’m worthy instead of just… writing.”

He nodded once. “That’s common.”

They reached the car, but the conversation didn’t feel finished.

“If you want to write travel,” Justin continued, leaning lightly against the door, “then write something while you’re here. Not about yourself. About what you notice. The airport. The way this city feels at night. The coffee shop we’ll probably end up in tomorrow morning. Write it as if it’s already your job.”

Her pulse quickened.

“And then?”

“Then I’ll see what I’m working with.”

She stood frozen, just smiling, thrilled about a brand-new possibility.

Roni clapped once. “See? I told you this weekend was going to be productive.”

Justin smiled, but there was seriousness beneath it. “If there’s something there, I can introduce you to someone in your city who mentors new writers. I’ve recommended interns before when I believe in them. But I need to see your voice first.”

“So,” he said gently, “are you willing to take a detour?”

For the first time since Greg Thomas had handed her the assignment and challenged her to prove herself, Lilly felt something shift.

Maybe she didn’t have to explain who she was.

She had to show it.

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.

Recipe Revision (A Submission in the Making)

I began my first book believing I was writing a cozy mystery, something with warm edges and clever turns, a comforting puzzle wrapped in charm.

But somewhere around ten thousand words in, I realized I had been trying to bake something that simply wasn’t a scone. The ingredients were darker, the tension more layered, the story far more complex than I had first imagined.

It turns out, my book leans more toward a psychological suspense mystery, intricate and unfolding in ways I didn’t initially recognize.

You would think discovering the true nature of your own story wouldn’t require thousands of words. I certainly thought so. At first, that realization brought discouragement. I wondered why I hadn’t “known” sooner.

But while reading The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides this morning, something shifted. I felt it, that steady, electric clarity that says, there it is it; this is what I’m writing, the flavor and temperature.

And then, suddenly, that frustration gave way to a sharp spark of recognition, the kind that makes you sit up straighter and forget your coffee has gone cold.

Watching the characters begin to arc in unexpected directions is euphoria-inducing in a way I did not anticipate.

Holding a finished manuscript is still the goal. Selling a first copy would be a thrill beyond anything I’ve known

But I am beginning to understand that the deeper reward is not just in finishing. It is in finding the right recipe and delighting in the process of watching it come together.

For today, I’m content to stay in the making.

Buzzing with Good Intentions

Daily writing prompt
If there were a biography about you, what would the title be?

If there were a biography written about me, it would not begin with calm reflection. Calm is not my opening act. Calm is my encore.

The first act is enthusiasm, curiosity, maybe a touch of overcommitment, usually followed by a bold declaration and then immediate reflection about that declaration.

I do not enter change quietly. I buzz.

Not maliciously, but maybe a little dramatic.

Oh shoot, my biography has to be based on facts.

Ok, fully dramatic. I am emotionally invested in a way that suggests background music may begin at any moment. But never cruelly. Never with ill intent, just passionate. Like a hopeful mosquito with a vision board and a five‑year plan.

I feel things at a level that can put me in the deep end quickly. Skeeters like water after all. A small change is not just a small change. Yes, it is paramount! A typo in a text message may briefly qualify as a personal crisis before logic returns from her coffee break.

And yet, here is the part that makes it funny instead of tragic.

The melodrama ceases pretty quickly. I do recover. Yay me.

I buzz, I spiral, I narrate the situation as though a documentary crew is nearby, and then I recalibrate. The drama is real. The feelings are real, but so is the growth.

No doubt about it, I am a skeeter.

I swirl around in circles because I care. I poke because I am curious. I hover because I want to fully understand. Dag nabbit, it is so important to get it right!

And sometimes, yes, someone gently waves me away. Like my siblings, they know all the signs, and they can see the skeeter zooming in. I can almost feel the swoosh as my brother sighs and says, “hey little sis. I hear ya, let me think on this awhile and get back to you.” His best skeeter repellant is humor. He too has things he needs to discover. Sometimes, I even wave myself off before anyone else has to. I mean, don’t think I just get on the nerves of others. I am an equal opportunity pest.

I get excited, lean in, and ask questions… sometimes maybe too many. Hey, life offers so many research projects just waiting for the right scientist with zeal and determination to figure it all out, so I circle ideas, even poke at them. Even human creatures are not exempt. I definitely can poke at people a little and sometimes a little more than a little. I mean well. I always mean well.

I can usually tell when I am being too much, so I swat myself gently and say, “Alright, Skeeter, settle down and stay put for a minute.”

And maybe that is the arc of this biography. I believe once a skeeter does not always have to remain a skeeter. I am growing and evolving, not into a saint, let’s not get carried away, but into something a little more lovely. A dragonfly, perhaps. That sounds prettier than “moderately improved mosquito.” I still hover and I am still curious, but I can see a little open space just up ahead, somewhere I might land with more intention instead of pure impulse.

My Dream Home

On a hill overlooking city lights, with mountains resting beyond the flicker, sits my quaint cottage. A single tall pine tree keeps watch beside it. I like to think it stands guard, ever present, through wind, snow, and the softest summer breeze. Wildflowers grow naturally along the front path, adding soft color against the home. A wide porch stretches across the front, with a classic wooden swing, a pair of white rocking chairs that invite slow mornings and even slower sunsets, and a soft screen door that creaks gently when it opens. This is where you come and sit with me.

The house is white with deep, rich blue accents. It feels elegant but warm, the kind of place that is beautiful without trying to impress anyone.

When I open the front door, I step directly into my reading and writing room. There is little furniture.  Just a beautiful rug underfoot, an antique desk waiting for early morning thoughts, a small rock fountain trickling gently in the corner, and a quaint tea table for two. I imagine my gal pals sitting there, steam rising from our cups as we lean in close and talk about everything and nothing. A big, comfy chair anchors the room, where I curl up with a cozy mystery before the day fully wakes.

From there, the space opens naturally into the great room, bright and open. It holds the kitchen, the living area, a fireplace, and large windows that refuse to be ignored.  The kitchen is simple, with a farmer’s sink and wide counters where I can spread things out without feeling cramped. It is not fancy, but it suits me just fine. I would never choose a galley kitchen. I want space to move, to breathe.

The bedrooms are smaller and tucked quietly toward the back. One is an office, not just for ideas to scatter freely, but because I still have to work. Dream houses do not fund themselves, and I like the thought of earning the life I live inside these walls. One is a guest room, ready when someone I love needs rest. The master bedroom is slightly larger, with its own fireplace and a window seat where I can watch storms roll in. The closet is roomy but not excessive.

The master suite’s bathroom is divine. The shower holds a wide rain head, large enough to let the water pour, some days gentle and other days strong. A built-in bench lines one wall so I can sit beneath it, letting the steady fall of water take me away, but not from this perfect retreat. A classic clawfoot tub rests nearby. It carries the old-world charm of curved porcelain and polished feet, yet it is fitted with gentle massaging jets. When the water rises and the jets hum softly, bubbles gather around me like a warm blanket. Tucked in the corner, almost hidden from view, is a small sauna for the days I need deeper restoration. The bathroom tends to my inner diva, while the rest of the house keeps things simple and warm.

Speaking of warmth, let’s meander out to the backyard of my dream abode. As enchanting as my front view is, with its pretty curb appeal, the backyard may just be my favorite spot in all the land. Rather than tell you how wonderful it is, let me show you the full picture. I have a feeling it might become your favorite spot too.

The first thing you see when you step outside is a flower, hummingbird, and butterfly haven. Of course, we have to consider the mess, so it is armed with ant moats and drip trays. It can be inconvenient sometimes, but the show these divine critters bring is sublime.

I like to watch them while lying in my shaded hammock. It swings so gently as they entertain. Most evenings, I relax in my armchair with my favorite blanket.  I do not really need it, though, because the gas fire pit provides both warmth and a soft glow of ambiance.

The front yard allows me to look out onto the world, but my backyard is just for me, fully private and peaceful, my little sanctuary. It is plush, yet with minimal fuss. A lovely stone accent wall captivates my eyes every time. And let us not forget the small garden labyrinth, with solar lights lining the pathway, casting a soft glow at dusk. At the heart of it stands a young tree, planted small so it can grow alongside me in this cozy space.

A couple of discreet outdoor speakers play my favorite spa music, just enough to soften the air without overwhelming the natural sounds. Even the artificial turf does not take away from the scene. It simply keeps things tidy, so the beauty can remain the focus.

As I move through every detail of this dream home, I realize something unexpected. There is something deeply fun about letting the imagination stretch and wander. I am grateful for the chance to explore it piece by piece, because in that dreaming, it begins to feel like more than just a sketch in my mind.

Buddies at the Gate

 

Bud-dies have been waiting at the gate, hoping I’d rise and make that morning magic, the one with nuts, fruits, seeds, all swirling in that rich, velvety parfait.

Please let it be the one, they whisper, barely daring to hope.

Guys… I think it’s happening. The gate is opening. Look! The spoon is full.

Oh my, this is going to be more than we can contain.

A collective sigh of bliss reverberates throughout the chamber.

It’s beyond tasty: crunchy and smooth, sweet and a little bitter, all at the same time.

“My favorite is the nuttiness of it all,” says Crunchy Carl, the portal clown. “Me and nutty are best buds.”

“Of course you are,” mutters Salty, the critic. “One spoonful and his corniness hits overdrive.”

“Shush, Salty,” whispers Syllabud, ever the poet. “To taste is to live.”

“Please,” snaps Tangy, ever the tart-tongued cynic. Pssst, Sugar, his pet name for Sweet Sally, for he always felt they were made for each other, the sour to her drippy sunshine. Are you hearing this? As usual, they’re babbling like a bunch of… Sugar, are you listening to me?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. This is just so hip-hip-horraylicious. Mmm, divine.”

Then, from somewhere deeper in the flavor field, Cordata, the savoriest, speaks with quiet command.

“We all know she depends on us, insists even, to soothe her palate. While I find her expectations for harmony a bit unrealistic, we’d better work together… or she might switch to boring, bland oatmeal. And not the brown sugar and cinnamon kind.”

A hushed gasp ripples through the buds.

“Oh man,” Crunchy Carl whispers. “I miss that flavor.”

I sigh. “Cordata, I’m not looking for a peace summit. I just wanted breakfast.”

More… more… MORE!

Their chant elevates into a culinary rebellion.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I mutter. “You all are so dramatic.”

I scoop another spoonful, partly to appease them, partly because, well, they’re not wrong.

“Here. This should soothe your almost obnoxious senses.”

“Oh, quite contrary,” they cry. “The senses are fixing to explode with deliciousness!”

I shake my head, smiling.

Ahhhhhh.

I lift the final spoonful, realizing the last bite is always the hardest to swallow. “My cherished buddies, brace yourselves. Let’s remember that life is scrumptious, joyfully absurd, and entirely worth waking up for. Now, here it comes.” Their swoons, sighs, and giggles said it all.

And in unison, they all agreed.

Myth of the Missing Piece

How lovely it is to sit down on the living room couch, cuddled and cozy next to the love of your life. Perhaps, watching a Christmas Hallmark movie, where the magic of romance flows from the screen to fill the room with enchantment.

Couples, newlyweds or lifelong veterans, partaking, even dancing, in the art of love. They experience ebbs and flows, but still, they carry on. I find this to be a unique force of determination, grit, and fortitude, sticking to one another through all seasons of life. What a testament, to endure such an adventure. I sure do admire it though.

It must come with many blessings: to help work through the hard times and, even in the dark days, to find comfort knowing your loyal partner remains. It is not perfect, but it is theirs, a resolute union of their own making.

Of course, not all relationships are healthy. Some are toxic to the core. I am not speaking of ugly moments that pass, but of situations that are not good for anyone involved. Those sorts should never last. What is that saying? It is better to be single than to be in a bad relationship. On this, we can all agree.

However, the choice to be single isn’t always because of trauma filled romances, or bitter, broken people opting to stay single to protect their wounded souls. Singledom does not always require a solution.

The idea that singleness is a problem to be solved didn’t start with us. It was handed down gently at first, then louder as time went on, through customs, stories, and subtle messages tucked inside the scripts of everyday life.

Since the dawn of time, survival and social status were deeply rooted in marriage, especially for women. To be partnered was to be protected, provided for, and publicly validated. To be alone was to struggle in every aspect of life. It simply was a risk.

Even as times changed, the undercurrent remained. We saw it in fairy tales, where the story wasn’t complete until a prince arrived. In family gatherings, where the single seat at the table was met with pity, or the inevitable question: “Are you dating anyone?” In movies, where the triumphant moment wasn’t the career milestone or self-discovery, but the kiss in the rain.

Over time, the myth took shape: that if you were single, something must be missing: a piece of your identity, a chapter of your life, a person to prove you were worth choosing.

However, myths only hold power when we mistake them for truth. And this one, though dressed in sentiment and tradition, is more fiction than fact, at least for those to whom it is an intentional preference.

Let me be clear: whatever you choose is what is best for you.

I frequently feel the need to advocate for being single as a fulfilling and valid lifestyle choice.

I come across words like these so often:

To choose to be single is selfish. It is such a lonely and depressing existence, with no purpose, no meaning. We only have one life, so why choose to do it alone? If you’re left with no option, then sure, it is understandable. But don’t worry, it’s never too late to find another. Now dust off your solitary britches and get back out there. No need to put up the proverbial sign “out of business” just yet. You will be okay. Just work on being a better you, so when the right one comes along, you will be good and ready.

I recall recently, while hanging out with my oldest, asking her what her biggest fear was. I was trying to guess quickly: being buried alive, drowning, eaten by a wild bear or a shark? Nope. “Oh, that’s easy, Mama,” she said. “By far and above, my biggest fear is being alone.” Huh? I laughed, thinking, Read the room, woman! She laughed too, immediately trying to console me.

“I like to be alone, Mama,” she said, “but to always be alone seems so sad and isolating.” I said, “Yeah, I understand, baby.”

I explained that I believe much of her fear comes from not having experienced it long enough to discover its pleasures. There are so many, just as there are in sharing your life with another. Both take work to thrive. Both have seasons. Neither is exempt from the struggles that come with living. Like all things, in all ways, faithful practice builds resilience and grace.

Since then, I have thought a lot about her response and the misconceptions that seem mainstream. This, for example, is what I hear often: “I would have left my marriage years ago, but I stay because I don’t want to end up alone.” Heaven forbid one would have to endure such a tragic demise.

Well, I am here to dispel the wretched myth that there is something missing.

One doesn’t find missing pieces by pairing up. Wholeness isn’t stitched into someone else’s arms. It builds patiently, day by day, inside your own heart.

There are pleasures woven like secret smiles within a life lived singularly. The slow mornings where the only sound is the lilting birdsong. The thrill of tackling long neglected chores, starting a new project, or exploring without interruptions. One can choose the sweetest option of all, to do nothing at all. Many options come without negotiation or permission. The freedom to build a rhythm entirely on your own is not a burden but a blissful paradise at times. There is an intimacy with oneself that deepens, a sovereignty of spirit that blooms, and a quiet power that rises, when you realize you are not waiting for life to begin.

Single does not equal solitary confinement. There are always people in need of the tender care only you can offer, and many ways to give and receive. There is always laughter and adventures waiting to be shared, but you must be willing to make these connections happen. You can design a social life, find hobbies, all while maintaining your meaningful choice to be single.

Life is a puzzle; we search to find all the pieces that fit together just right. Each creation is unique and can bring purpose, fulfillment, and joy, along with trials and heartaches. There is always more work to do. However, I have found a fascinating discovery in this journey on my own, being alone doesn’t have to mean I have no place to belong. Sweet, rewarding acceptance was found in my own company. There is no piece missing. I am dining perfectly at my table for one, partaking in all the delicious gifts that the banquet of life offers.

And so, if you find yourself walking a path with no hand to hold, do not rush to call it lacking. Instead, listen to the birdsong meant for your ears alone. Relish in the sacredness of choosing your own pace, your own becoming. It is not a lesser existence. You can stand alone, vibrantly and beautifully whole. Life, in all its seasons, offers various kinds of abundance. Some are partnered; others walk alone. You are not missing anything. You have arrived just as you are.

You are your home.