For my friend

I spent hours yesterday cutting paper bookmarks for both of the kids’ Halloween parties, even though all I wanted to do was turn into a puddle. I thought about handing the piles of construction paper to someone else and climbing into bed a million times. But, I didn’t. I made it to both of the parties. I knew that you wouldn’t like to hear I missed the parties on account of missing you.

I lost you on Thursday. It hurts, everywhere. I hate cancer.
Last Halloween we spent it together. Do you remember we coincidentally dressed the same way?
I love you. I adored everything about you. You are the kind of best friend girls dream of.

I’m heart broken.
I can hear your laughter, and that’s what I’ll hold on to. I’ll keep your smiles and warmth folded up in my pocket because I’m still in need of them. I’m sorry that I won’t get the chance to build more memories with you. I’m sad that your family is forced to be without you—that the world is. I’m sad that I have to be. I’m just sad.
But I am glad that you aren’t in pain anymore. I hated that you were so uncomfortable. I wanted so badly to make you feel better.

I am happy you chose me as a friend, and I’m happy that you thought all of my terrible jokes were so funny.

I am glad you loved me too. I’ll miss you always.

Imperfect Moments

I stepped onto the front porch. Logan closed the door behind us; his eyes stayed on his feet. He is holding his shoulders higher and more forward than usual. He’s mad. His dark brown eyes found mine.

“You have this life that I don’t fit into,” he said finally.

“I don’t remember seeing you try to fit into it,” I answer him. The night sky is darker than usual. The clouds that blocked the sun all day hung around to block the moon. A damp breeze takes my hair up into its grasp, then let go as quickly as it held on.

“Are you cheating on me with him?” Logan gestured his chin toward the house.

“I don’t know what’s going on between Adam and me,” I say honestly. Lying at this point in our relationship doesn’t have any rational backing.

“…But, it is something,” his voice trailed off.

I shrug. “Nothing’s happened.”

“I’m gonna go Molly.” Logan’s eyes squinted down into straight lines.

“Are we done?” I ask.

“I think, this a stopping point for us. I’m sorry. I wanted to be here for you, but it’s more than I signed up for.”

“I get it. We aren’t in that kind of relationship. You and I were never going to last forever,”

“I suppose not.” He reached out to touch my arm, then stopped himself. My heart. Unfortunately, we are all just human—guaranteed imperfect.

The Paper Trail

The other day when I was at the gym, I overheard these two women talking about this guy who just won the lottery. It turns out this guy had gambled the winnings away in a weekend.

“Squandering a one of a kind opportunity is a hard thing to come back from,” the woman on left treadmill said. She was wearing a matching dark gray and purple set. The definition in her arms suggested she spent a lot of time working out. I could tell when I looked in her eyes that it was because she was nervous.

“His life could have gotten better, ” the other woman said. She was wearing men sweat pants and a large band shirt. She continued, “It’s sad to say that money makes life easier, but it does. But, not necessarily because you can buy whatever you want but because that’s one less thing that needs to be worried about.”

They carried on this way, about this guy and his mistakes, and then all the sudden another woman comes storming into the gym. This woman had clearly been crying. Her hair was at least unbrushed for two days. Everyone looked up. There was no choice.  Now, the woman with the fancy workout outfit looked right at the woman; her face drained of all its color.

Crazed-had-been crying lady yells, “You did it. I can’t believe you did it!”

The weak one gets off the treadmill with her eyes locked on the site in front of her. I was cycling through my head, trying to figure out what “it” was.

“Just, please leave.” The jogging suit said, now off the treadmill.

“You gambled it all way. What about the kids? Did you even think?”

COVER REVEAL: The Highly Capable

Available November 13thThe Highly Capable Cover

Tour Starts November 16th 

What would you do if you could control objects with your mind?
Would you be able to choose between right and wrong?

Eighteen-year-old Ruby Dawson was born with the powers to move things with her mind. She thought she was the only one of her kind until she met Tristan-a self-destructive drug addict and a crew of super-powered thieves. Working in the shadows, the crew follows their fire conjuring leader, Madison, as they descend further and further into the world of organized crime.

Ruby finds herself in a whirlwind of wrong decisions, lies, murder, and realizations she isn’t ready to face. As Ruby watches Tristan disappear further into his drug addiction and her team fight for more money and territory, she struggles with who she has become. Can Ruby walk away from the closest thing she has to a family and be the hero she is actually meant to be?

The Highly Capable- Volume One of the Ruby Dawson Saga, an urban fantasy, is a tormenting and emotional tale of self-discovery.

Want to be part of the tour? Click the link below for more information about signing up. 

The Highly Capable Tour Sign up

Cover Design by Greg Simanson.

Thirty Years in the Wrong Future

“I think some people believe that everything has an end.” Eli looked away as he slid his hands into his back pockets. “I’m not sure if I do or not…I don’t even know if I want an end.”

“Why should we think about something we have no control of?” I said this with instant regret. He was finally talking to me again.

“Because if we don’t think about it, we won’t be at all prepared for it,” he answered not seeming offended by my question in the slightest.

“Is it something that we can prepare for?” I crossed my arms, feeling uncertain why I was still standing there.

Just as I started to muster the strength to turn my body away, he spoke again, “If we go together, I think it’ll be best.” His voice was only a whisper.

“Okay,” I said. Our hands grabbed each other. Lights began to dim around us. My toes started to tingle.

“How much longer, do you think?” I asked him. Suddenly, I felt uncertain and ill-prepared.

“Hard to say,” he said tightening his grasp on my hand.

I rested my head on his shoulder. “I guess we’ll wait a little longer.”

“We’ll wait until it comes,” he whispered.

We continued to sit there, hand and hand until finally it came, and just like that, everything was different.

Reflection, Proper Bridges, and My Love for Books

Life gets busy. Schedules and goals build cities to get lost in. Everyone’s reaction to my goals was more or less the same. After trudging through babies and sleepless nights to toddlers and the fear of setting a tantrum in motion, I came to point where I needed to carve out a piece for my career. Putting my aspirations aside was slowly driving me crazy.

Having a successful career has been important to me since grade school. I remember going to a career day with my aunt in Manhatten and thinking how impressive it all was. Soon after that, I found my love for writing stories.

Building a career and a family simultaneously can feel a bit like walking across a wire suspended thousands of feet in the air while holding a cat—perhaps that is slightly over dramatic—but, at moments it does get tough. There is only so much time in the daphotographer-527351_1920y, and, unfortunately, I’m human—which means I need down time to recharge. Scheduling every moment of the day on the calendar doesn’t mean that I’ll be that productive. (It was worth a try…or ten.)

So often slowing down, gets the results I rush for.  I’m gradually getting to a place in my career that I’ve wanted to be for a while. I think that excepting the process is a big part of this picture of betting on myself. I am a professional dreamer, and this realization took me awhile to accept. For a good chunk I was grabbing a broad range of writing gigs, all over the map. Which was an important journey for me. Sometimes I need something to smack me in the face, not tap me on the shoulder. I don’t want just to write anything. I am a creative writer; thinking in story arcs comes naturally. Building worlds, characters, and problems is my wheelhouse. It’s just convincing people that the stories I make up are worth their time and money is the tricky part. I’m still figuring it out. But, I love it, I love what I do, and I’m making it work. Putting the copywriting down and focusing solely on my creative writing career is helping me build the proper bridges. I’m heading in the right direction. Focus is the best tool. When I’m sitting down and writing, I feel like I should be doing nothing else. For someone who writes impossible to-do lists before going to sleep, this is a beautiful thing.

My whole relationship with books as a kid started when I realized that in a book, my childhood was a little bit more fun, a little bit more…everything better. To be able to give someone a needed escape with my stories is my ultimate goal. I want to give back to the world of books because it has given me so much.

I dunno, just because.

Anytime I wake up super alert and start doing stuff right away, I know I’m in for a trying day. Easing into life is something I need but not always allow myself. My two-week streak of hitting all my writing goals came to a halt this Wednesday night. I hit a wall, and now my brain is unwilling to cooperate with my need to create.

I sometimes have an accidental habit of controlling and hindering my creative process without even releasing it. It all boils down to what I call pre-editing. I edit thoughts before they are words on paper. A plan and list of goals is all good, and wholly necessary. But, I still need to allow myself room to create freely. Having ideas and enabling them to come are two different acts I’m finding.

Out of bad ideas often can come good ones.

Sometimes I fall victim to overplanning. I get so caught up in the need-to-dos, that I don’t always make sure there’s room for the let-it-happens. Watching the world and involving myself in the world are also two different things.

My words come best when I’m having fun not clenching and drooling over a todo list at six in the morning like I’m Smeagol bonding with the ring of power.

I let myself get too tense this week. I partly blame this my incredible progress over the last few weeks. I got greedy for more.

At the end of the day, I love what I do and the life I manage fairly well considering I never had an example of anything put together. At the end of the day, I know I got this.

Accepting that I’m only human is easier some days than others. It is what it is. And, whatever it is, it’s more or less all good.

Breathe.