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Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Funny Over Fear

I am dying to get my funny back and breathe fresh perspective into my life and writing. Is it possible that literally nothing in my life is funny? Sweet Jesus, poop cannot be the only thing. Please tell me it's not the only thing!

That's the text message I sent my best friends this morning. 

In no particular order, Friend A is a real writer and not some phony like me. She has her PhD in English and has dissertated and defended and is published. It goes without saying that I trust her implicitly. I value her opinion and rely on her when I need direction on all things prose. She's gives me thoughtful, high-level feedback and gets it when I send her deep thoughts and arcane statistics and pictures of birds accompanied by long ramblings of what I imagine they may be thinking. She is my spirit animal.


Thursday, September 17, 2015

A Birthday Gift

Three years ago today, I stared into a pair of murky blue eyes and kissed a nose that was an exact replica of my own. Six pounds is tiny, but in my son's eyes I could see the deepest recesses of the sea and the entire galaxy all at once. He had a way about him that was magnetic and transformative and though I didn't know then what our lives had in store, I instinctively understood that we could manage it together. 


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