Micah

babies

It’s been a while since I’ve written a post, chalk it up to a mental vacation over the summer.  But with a new season comes a renewed vigor to get things going and here we are.

There’s been so many newsworthy events since I’ve last written, so many things that have angered and saddened me.  Such hate and intolerance running rampant in the streets and behind electronic screens.

The entire world needs a Snickers.

However, it is the acts of violence against black people that stand out the most to me.

I am a white woman.

My entire life has been lived in some sense of privilege or entitlement, most of it unknowing or subconscious.  My friends and I, other white women, have held lengthy discussions about the stroke of luck that let us be born white.  And I don’t mean that to sound ignorant, I mean that because those are the facts.  That is the reality we live in and our skin color alone has granted us a lifetime of unjust privilege and we did absolutely nothing to deserve it, except be born.

I am a police officer’s daughter.

My entire life has been lived thinking that the men and women who wear the uniform are angels on earth without wings.  The thin blue line keeping us from a lawless society.  But I’m not a little girl anymore and there are some police officers who aren’t angels.  Unfortunately there are some bad police officers in the world, just as there are bad types of all things.  Saying that doesn’t mean anything.  It doesn’t change anything.  Saying that doesn’t give mothers back their sons or children back their fathers.  It doesn’t give communities back their sense of trust and security that those officers are there to protect and serve them.

The other day I was in Panera with my nephew. (If you follow me on any social media he’s pretty much all I post, but he’s cute so you love it)  He was strapped in his car seat, happy as a clam.  I set his carrier down on a bench and a woman came and sat down next to us with her son in her arms.  He looked to be a little older than my nephew, no more than a few months apart.   After talking with his mother I learned his name is Micah, he’s five months old and as sweet as can be with warm brown eyes and the sweetest giggle.  Micah’s mom and I talked together as we waited for our lunches and she shared stories about life with her newborn and we laughed over babies and stared at how precious and sweet they both are.  Eventually my food was ready and we exchanged goodbyes and parted ways.

That sweet boy stayed in my head the rest of the day and I couldn’t help but think about what his life will be like in ten or fifteen years like I often do with my own nephew.

And my heart sank.

My heart sank because no matter how many people promise him he will be different and he will be safe from harm, he will encounter racial profiling, he will encounter discrimination, he will encounter bigotry and intolerance and all of those awful things will have nothing to do with him.  He will be taught early in life how to live and adapt and protect himself against those things, and he shouldn’t have to.

The systematic oppression of an entire race isn’t something a child should ever learn.

The idea that an eye for an eye will get things done isn’t something a society should learn.

The belief that all cops are bad isn’t something that should be taught.

The notion that all black men are criminals isn’t something that should be handed down from generation to generation.

This entire conversation about race feels like a slippery slope for a white person.  You don’t want to offend anyone, but you know that you can no longer sit by and not say anything.  We are three dimensional people, we’re allowed to have complex feelings.

I’m allowed to support law enforcement but also acknowledge and support the fact that #blacklivesmatter

The fact that some people are born white and some people are born black shouldn’t be grounds for one being better than the other.  The only thing I noticed that day was there were two very cute babies sitting in close vicinity to one another.  Each boy captivated by the other tiny human across from them.  Each baby boy smiling gooey smiles to the other.  Their brains completely immune to the hatred and intolerance that will eventually plague them through their growth in society.

We could all use some more gooey baby smiles, lord knows we need them.

27 Things I Learned by 27

Trust me, this vessel of knowledge is still mostly empty, but over the course of 27 years, I’ve picked up a thing or two about a thing or two.

1. Hydrogen peroxide and baking soda will solve most problems.

2. Vodka will solve the rest.

3. There is no greater comfort than home, wherever that may be.

4. Sending handwritten cards in the mail is the one of best ways to bring a smile to two people’s faces.

5. Hydrate. All the time. Always be drinking water. Seriously. 

6. Helping your family and friends is soup for the soul.

7. Sometimes you just need to watch the sunset without taking pictures of it.  

8. Being able to cook for yourself is a greater skill than you realize.

9. Your time with your parents will never be enough so cherish the time you’ve been given.

10. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.

11. Moisturize. Dry skin is the devil’s play thing.

12. It is not your job to keep everyone else afloat, especially if that means you’re the one who is drowning.

13. That feeling in the pit of your stomach should always be trusted. It will point you to your true north.

14. Women are funny. 

15. Treat yourself to the manicure, the dessert, the dress. Whatever it is. Life is too short to deprive ourselves of the things that make us happy.

16. Be honest. Even if it gets you into trouble.  

17. Surround yourself with people who make you laugh.

18. It’s okay to mess up and to fail, but it’s not okay to not try at all. Some of the most successful people failed a lot more than they succeeded at first.

19. Sometimes it will feel like everything in your life is falling apart. Breathe. That is when your life is preparing you for something better, but only if you let it. Make room for those better things.

20. Babies and dogs are the best therapy.

21. Next to a cup of coffee with your best friend.

22. It’s okay to miss the party every once in a while. They’ll be more.

23. Not everyone is going to like you. That’s okay. It means you are your own person.

24. Never trust someone else’s opinion about a person you haven’t met.

25. Early morning is the best time of day. I regret it took me 25 years to find that one out.

26. It’s okay if some form of social media passes you by. Let them have their periscope. we’ll always have Webshots.

27. Nobody is responsible for your happiness but you. Sure other people will make you happy, but they cannot keep you happy. 

And one more for good luck.

28. You must be willing to do whatever is necessary to give yourself the best chance at a good life. Even if that scares you. Especially if that scares you.

 

I’ve met a man


This past week has been a cloud nine kind of week.

If you’ve seen anything I’ve posted on social media the past few days, then you know I’m speaking of the birth of my nephew. On Friday, June 3rd at 3:51 PM, Declan Ryan Farrell came into this world and he is (super biased) the most perfect thing to ever exist.
From the moment I laid eyes on him, I fell into a type of love that I’ve only ever heard about.

But he’s not who this blog is about. 

The man I met was the one holding him, his father.  

My older brother Ryan, was instantly catapulted into this new role of fatherhood and I’ve never seen anyone more perfectly suited.

Growing up Ryan was many things to me, the most vivid being the typical older brother. He was the thorn in my side, the pesky annoyance who would wake me up each morning by sticking a Twizzler in my ear and yelling “Schnozzled you my friend,” while four to five of his friend cackled behind him in my childhood bedroom.

But man, seeing him holding his newborn son and the smile on his face told me he was no longer that teenage boy. He was transformed into this man, into this father. 

I was mesmerized.  

Over the next 36 hours, I watched in awe as his instincts took over and he fell into the role of fatherhood. He changed his first poopy diaper, he fed the baby his first bottle, and he became attuned to the sound of his son’s cry from 50 yards away. I even caught a glimpse of the helicopter dad to come and he paced anxiously outside the door while Declan received the normal tests given to newborns down the hall from his room.

Watching my brother and Nicole marinade in this new life of family was such a beautiful and intimate thing to be invited to see.

I’m trying hard to give them space as they adjust to their new life, even though I want to be with that baby every moment, I want my brother to have those precious few days of new life with his family.

That’s the reality.  

While he is my brother and best friend, he has his own family now and new responsibilities that come with that.

I’ve been struggling with that for a bit. Everyone in my family is shifting into these new lives and it’s shocking to not think of it as just the five of us anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to think of things being so different.

Such is life.

All of those worries and fears about the future evaporated the moment I saw them together with their son.

Every irrational fear I had about his new life melted as he held his son with ease and confidence and a smile that couldn’t be erased.

It felt right.

It felt like all of those years of him being annoying me and then being there for me and protecting me got him ready for this exact moment in time.

In my head I would always picture him as a 13 year old who’s sole purpose was to make my life miserable. I’m selfish to the fact that I’m not the only one who’s allowed to grow up.

He was no longer a boy, he hadn’t been for years. 

Nothing on earth, no TED talk, no book on tape, no stories from friends prepared me for the swell of my heart, the growing of my soul to invite one more being in to love for eternity.  

The miracle of birth and new life is just that, a miracle.

Caution

Speed bumps ahead

Deep inside all of us lays an ideal image of how we think our lives are supposed to unravel.

The naive thoughts of our pretty life’s journey often lay at the end of an open road, patiently waiting for us to meet them.

What a novel idea.

The clean, easy version of our life’s journey never really pans out that way though. Once we get on the road to our destiny, we begin to see the road bumps and detours we will have to pass along the way.

It’s inevitable.

There is always going to be something blocking you from your dreams.  Detours, road blocks, traffic.

The open road will not stay open for long.

In the beginning we’re so focused on getting to that destination that we don’t realize that in order to become who we’re meant to be, we have to overcome those very road blocks.

The sooner we come to realize the powerful importance of those detours, the sooner we let them into our lives willingly instead of fighting the fact that they’ve changed our route, is the sooner our lives become what they are truly meant to be.

We are not meant for linear travel.

Our lives are meant to get messy, mud on the bumpers, scratches on the wheels.   A bug or five will splat into your windshield.  You might even lose a tire.

The point isn’t to make it to our ideal life cleanly, it is to make it our life in spite of what stands in our way.

It is never the path we expect to take that changes us.

It’s those back roads and valleys in between the mountain tops that define who we are.  It is the messy, ugly, and mostly unseen things that happen in the darkest points of the night on our trip that test us, mold us into road warriors.   That is how we make it to where we’re meant to be.  Mile by mile, day by day.

Whatever path you’re taking, wherever you think your life should be, don’t be discouraged by the obstacles in your way.

Do not be diminished by set backs.

Do not be thwarted by the ugly parts of your journey.

Trust that whatever road blocks are in your way will not cause you to miss your destination.  Let them take you to where you’re supposed to be and let them teach you how to be someone who overcomes adversity, not someone who is defeated by a little erosion on the highway.

That’s a lot of road metaphors, but let’s be real for a minute.  Nobody who ever succeeded at anything in life made it cleanly on their first try.  They bled, they sweated, they put the work in when nobody was watching.  They probably had to turn around ten times to get back to the starting point, but they found a way to get where they were meant to go.  They conquered the not so open road.

You will too.

Mother

My girl

 

There is nobody in this entire world who will ever love you in the ferocious capacity that your mother loves you.

There is not one other person on this planet who has the instincts to protect you, to care for you, to answer your fifty frantic phone calls a day without hanging up.

Nobody else.

Her love for you is powerful enough to part oceans.  She will gather the strength of ten men to protect you. She will lift a car by herself if you were trapped underneath.  A mother’s strength is what they should bottle and sell for three installments of $39.99.

Her imprint on you is deep enough to sear your heart strongly enough so that even after she is gone, you will feel her with you every single day.

There will never be another love in your life like your mother’s.

A mother puts her children before anything else.  She will give you the sleeve of her shirt to wipe your snotty nose when there are no tissues and she will let you have the last pickle on her plate even if they’re her favorite.

Her love and devotion know no limit.

A mother is the only person who will weep tears of joy and when you present her with the sparsely colored macaroni necklace you made her for Mother’s Day.

She is the only human with the power to sense every emotion you’re feeling by only hearing the sound of your voice.  Her mother’s intuition was formed the moment she knew she was going to be your mom.

She knows what’s wrong before anything happens.

A mother is your creator, your truth, something you can never run from, no matter how hard you try.

Your mother is magic.  She is composed of star dust and atoms and you are made from those very same things.  The two of you tethered together are real life magic.

A mother is not less of your mother if the blood that flows through you is not the same.  A mother is your mother if she would lay herself down before you so you didn’t have to.  A mother is your mother if she would stand in front of you and protect you from whatever harmful things the wind blows at you.

 There will come a time in your life that your mother will no longer be here and it will leave a meteor sized hole in your heart.  And over time that hole will fill itself in with scar tissue, but all’s it will ever take to rip that hole back open is a smell or a sound or a memory of her.  A millisecond can send you into a complete meltdown.  That is how deeply you are connected to her.  That is how deeply you love her.

If that loss has already happened, then I commend you for the tremendous amount of strength you posses simply by getting out of bed each morning.  The loss of your mother is something you never recover from.  But she taught you how to be a survivor.  She taught you how to overcome adversity.

To my own mother – You are my strength, my greatest advocate, my dearest friend.  You have allowed me to bloom and blossom into my own (mostly) independent woman.  You’ve given me the tools I need to survive and thrive and to one day be a good mom myself.  You are my favorite person in this entire universe, and there is not a single day that I don’t acknowledge how lucky I am to have you by my side.  I cherish our days and moments in the most prized space in my heart.  You are my truth.  You are my future.  I love you from the very tips of my toes and I am in awe of the woman you’ve become.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the women who give themselves away so their children will see a better tomorrow, so they’re children will become more than.  You’re the real MVP’s.

 

Stranger Than Fiction

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.Read more at- http---www.brainyquote.com-quotes-quotes-m-marktwain122865.html

The best nourishment source for the creative soul is one’s own life.  Anything that we create outward comes from some place deep within us.  It is our job to acknowledge that.  It is our job as creators to feed that part of ourselves or else we risk it drying up completely.

One of the key themes in my creative endeavors is that parts of my own life will always entwine themselves in the central story.

My life is anything but boring, and my day to day interactions are nothing if not comical.  They are ideas and situations that are worth keeping around.

I don’t think it’s necessarily because I lead the craziest life, I think it has more to do with the fact that I’m always observing and taking note of what’s happening around me.  More often than not it’s those tiny, glanced over moments that take hold and turn themselves into tangible creativity.

Lately, this quote has been popping up more and more and I choose to believe that it’s coming to me for a reason.

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” – Mark Twain

My pull for my first book came to me primarily because I was surrounded by those very real and raw feelings that came with transitioning from one phase of life to the next.  It was the first time in my life that I didn’t have the blanket of school to shelter me from a completely different set of rules.  I was hit by the type of emotional waves that can knock you over if you’re feet aren’t planted good enough.

Now, a few years later, my life and the metaphorical tide has settled a bit.  I’ve grown used to the ebbs and flows of post education life and though my feet may have lifted off the ground, they never lost their footing in the sand.

I’ve been waiting for the same type of of emotional wave to wash over me again.  I’ve been searching for something new and foreign, a transition of sorts, something I should probably run from, but instead I’m choosing to run toward recklessly, with a pen and paper in hand.  I needed a  big wave at high tide.

It’s not that there haven’t been other ideas, I’ve just been waiting for the right one to break.  There have been half a dozen or so ideas I’ve contemplated, but it wasn’t until I looked inward to my own self that an idea stuck.

Time will reveal more, but I’m really starting to like how things are taking shape for my next book.  I’m getting more comfortable with recognizing the moments I should take note of.  Simple things have a greater importance and stick out more.

They’re calling to me.

That creative part of my soul that needs nourishment is beginning to demand more of me.  It’s growing bigger each day.  There are often times when I am physically present for something, but my mind is completely checked out.  More than not I’m off in my own world, a world of endless possibilities and characters.

The world I sometimes prefer.

Although that world has yet to deliver me my greatest story lines, I leave that for my real life.

 

I should tell you this more.

find your tribe(1)

Sometimes I don’t think I express enough gratitude for the good people in my life.

Through the years I’ve been fortunate enough to amass a bright light of people who love me, challenge me, and constantly push me to be better.  A feat that isn’t always easy when being a snarky bitch comes so naturally.  I am better for them and without them, well I don’t like to think about what I would be like without them.

I should tell you this more.

It’s worth noting that who you choose to surround yourself with is an important choice that creates a ripple effect in your own life. Surround yourself with enough light and you will shine.  Surround yourself with shit and you’ll start to smell like poop.

If you’re making the right choices, your people will inspire you to want more.  They will be honest with you when you’re wrong.  They will be honest with you even if it’s something you don’t want to hear–especially when it’s something you don’t want to hear.  They will push you to be a better in all aspects of yourself because they know you’re capable of more.

As we get older we need more of that.

There will always be an endless supply of fluffers.  People that tell you what you want to hear.  They’re the ones who are always over the top and are probably saying and doing things for their own personal gain.

Weed out the fluffers.  Even if it leaves you with one real friend, please weed out the fluffers.

Some of my friends are the ones who point my moral compass true north, they keep me honest when lying would be way easier.  Others are the ones who take me out all night long when they know I need a night of not thinking so much all the time.  Some friends are the friends who make me tackle the uncomfortable hills and mountains I’ve been detouring.  They force me to deal with my shit and not throw it all in a closet to multiply.  They are the types of friends that know you better than you know yourself.

I should tell you this more.

Not all people are going to love you unconditionally, but still expect the best out of you.  Which means when you find the ones that do, hold them above the rest.  Others will came and go with the wind, temporary stays in the grand scheme of our lives.

Through the years I’ve weeded my own patch of fair weathered friends and while at the time it seemed horrible, it’s left me with only really good people.

I should tell you this more.

They deserve recognition.

Thank you to each friend who has sat with me and listened to the terrible words that come from my mouth.  The people who hear my ugliest, darkest thoughts and still choose to love me.  Thank you for believing that I am more than my temporary moods or my childish attitude.  For knowing that I don’t want to make the hard choices, but for forcing me to anyway.  You’ve made it a lot easier to look at myself each day and know that I’m not completely dead inside.  You’ve fostered a sense of good in my soul and it’s slowly but surely taken root and made me better.

I should tell you this more. 

I’m thankful you’ve sparked this revolution of self.  You have all contributed to this ever evolving work of my life.

You’ve inspired the characters I’ve written and the ones I’m starting to write again.

You’re my creative gasoline.

I should tell you this more.

Power Down

COPENHAGEN

I’d like to think we’re all made up of a strong mixture of lightning bolts, espresso, and fireflies, things so bright and full they could never run out of power.

Unfortunately, we’re not.  We’re made up of cells, bones, muscles, and tissue.  Things that need maintenance and care.  Things that need rest.

Everyone celebrates how busy their lives are, how jam packed each second of each day is.  We fill our days with thing after thing to keep us busy, to keep us going, to keep us in motion.

Staying up all night and being in an exclusive relationship with caffeine is the quick fix to a bigger issue.  I’m not saying I’m not guilty of either of those.  In fact,  I still have the occasional all nighter doing work and religiously drink a pot of coffee each week day.

That’s good.  That always on the go mentality is good.  Right?  Workaholics are in this season.

But over time, that way of life, that fast paced living makes us tired.  Not the easily fixable take a nap type of tired, either.  This is the kind of tired that seeps deep within your soul and makes you question all types of things you shouldn’t.  The type of tired that clouds your once clear head.  The type of tired that makes you indifferent.

What do we do?  How do we fix it?

We do exactly what we tell our parents to do when they call us with any question about technology.  “Did you turn it off then turn it back on again?” Did you shut down for a minute.  Did you walk away from everything to decide what it is you really want?

Sometimes taking a break from things is exactly what we need to reignite our passion, to refuel our mind.

You might not even know that you need a break. You’ve become so used to go, go, go that the possibility of stopping hasn’t even occurred to you.

There is a certain level of complacency that occurs when you start to feel tired.  Whether it be in your jobs, your relationships, your hobbies, the signs are there if you know what to look for.

It could be something as simple as skipping over your usual checklist of priorities, it might be a little more evident when you feel bored by your routines, but if you wake up each morning dreading the day ahead, you’re in too deep.

Taking a break doesn’t make you weak.  Taking a break is about prioritizing yourself and what is important to you.  Sometimes when you power down, the important things bubble up to the surface and the rest fades away.  It can give you perspective and who doesn’t love perspective?

There will always be something pulling at you, always a distraction, obstacle, or a million voices shouting ‘focus on me’ ‘I’m what’s most important.’  When this happens, you need to shut off.

It is only when the power of constant movement is down that the real power comes on, the power of your own voice to choose what is important to you.

Truthfully, that’s the only power you need.

We were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie

Happy(1).jpg

I believe in fate.  I believe that there is something bigger out there watching over us and making sure we’re keeping our head above water.  I believe in powers far beyond the human realm.  I believe in more than just algorithms, science, and logic.

I have to.

I have to believe that something more than us exists in this world because if it doesn’t, what is this all for?

Most often, I believe that fate and those powers reveal themselves in different forms.  Some people see birds or butterflies, others see signs in the air or on the ground. For me it is when the right song comes on at just the right moment in time.

Those lyrics are my  own little message from the universe telling me that everything is going to be okay and that I’m not alone on this journey.  It’s something small I take comfort in.

The first time I really became aware of this happening, I was asleep and dreaming.  In my dream a song played hauntingly in the background and when I woke up, the song was the only thing on my mind, the rest of the dream had slipped away entirely.  The first thing I did was play the song out loud so I could imprint it into my head.  Then I called the person with all the answers to my problems.

“Mom.  I’ve got to tell you about this dream I had.  It was so real.  This song was playing in the background and when I woke up the song was the only thing I could think of.  I had to play it immediately.” I talked fast into the receiver.

By now both of my parents are well versed in my panicked phone calls demanding answers to my problems.  “Well what song was it?”  She played along accordingly if only to humor me.

“I’ll be seeing you.  Mom, it was so real.”  The song, first published in 1938 was popular during World War II, when it served as tribute for those serving in the war, including my grandfather.  A few years later, Billie Holiday released a version of the song.

“Your Nana and Papa loved that song.  They used to listen to it all the time.”

My heart swelled, my throat went dry, and my eyes instantly watered with tears.  My mother’s parents are both deceased and they were the best people in the whole world.  I was their last born grandchild and secretly my Papa’s favorite.  He would take me for long walks in my stroller and hold me until I fell asleep in his arms.  My first real memory in life is of his face.  Something I will brand deep into the walls of my brain.

Since that conversation, the song has appeared randomly, without my control, numerous times.  The most recent time was on the one year anniversary of my book being released.  I walked into a restaurant and the song was playing and my eyes filled with water faster than the bottom of the Titanic.  My friends asked what was wrong because they thought I was upset, but my heart was filled with love and comfort and peace that even though I can’t see them or hug them or have them with me, they’re there.  When I least expect it, they send me a subtle clue that they’ve never stopped watching over me.

My great uncle recently passed away.  He was my grandmother’s brother and a celebrated war hero.  He owned a camp on Lake George that filled up many of my childhood summers.  Growing up, our family would spend the day down by the lake and the evenings at the camp cooking out, our parents having some drinks while the kids thought of ways to get in trouble.  It usually ended with us trespassing or causing a ruckus somewhere.  I belly flopped so hard off a boat house one summer, I thought I was dead.  We didn’t even get in trouble for it because everyone was just happy I was alive.  No matter what though, at some point during the day a song would come on, either by request or pure coincidence and it drove my family, especially my mom and aunts into immediate karaoke mode.

The Melius sisters never wasted an opportunity to belt this song out.  American Pie.  All eight and a half minutes of it.  Full stage presence.  Every single time.  The song is synonymous with my family and summers of long ago.  From the lyrics to the melody, the whole thing embodies who we are.  It is full of life, and struggle, and maybe one too many verses, but you love it because of all those things.

At the time none of us knew it, we were young, innocent and simply living, but those summer days were what made up a life.  Those summer days were what made up a family.

The other day I was in the kitchen, going about my day with the radio playing in the background.  A song ended and it wasn’t until the first few notes of the next song played that I stopped in my tracks.

The opening chords of American Pie began to play and I was lifted somewhere else, somewhere long ago and far away.  I was a little kid running along the grass in a still damp bathing suit chasing fire flies and listening to the distinct sound of my family belting the song out at the lake.  A fire was roaring, everyone was drunk, either on alcohol or bliss.

The moment was so real I thought I could touch it.

The right song will make you feel that way.

The thrill of the rush.

The Beginning. Again.

I’ve been neglecting my blogging for a few weeks and it’s not because I’ve run out of things to say. (Ha.  Like that would ever happen)

It seems I’ve finally reached the point in my life where so little time, so much to do has rung true.

My days are an endless cup of coffee.  They begin earlier than I intend and end long after I wish.   But that is the price I must pay to follow my dreams.  

The currency I must bargain with in order to live as a creative person is my sanity, free time, caffeine intake, and suggested amount of daily yawns.

I will gladly pay the toll.

All of this is building to something better, something bigger.

I’ve been using the spare minutes in between jobs and my precious time in the mornings when the world is still quiet and only the sun has risen to begin preliminary work on my next book.

The process already feels so different from the first time.  This time around, I feel the slightest bit wiser and braver than I did with the last book.

But I still have those jittery feelings I got the first time around.

Even though I know how long this road of writing and editing will go.  Even though I remember the onslaught of emotions that will drive me to the edge and back again.

I can’t stay away.

I’m addicted to it all.

A new story is on the horizon.

This next book will be a stark contrast from my first one.  It would be easy to continue on with those characters and write the next chapter of their story.  I’ve thought about it.  And while each of the characters from my first book were such a part of me and represented who I was when I was 22 years old and first gathering ideas, a new story needs to be told.

I’m older.  Things in my life are different. Life is more complicated. Moments and relationships are beginning to get the stale stench of finality to them.  More newness sprouts up in my life each day.  Maintaining relationships is more complicated.  The truths I thought I knew five years ago no longer hold true. 

It’s always been important to me that my writing to reflect where I’m at in my own life.  

My next book is going to explore the sometimes difficult relationships that exist within families, especially in the face of mental illness.

This book is going to dig deeper into why relationships fail.  It’s going to tell a story of why the golden future of sunny promises is actually just a filter and in reality sometimes life is simply a deep shade of shitty grey.  

Without giving away too much, I wanted to let you all know that a new book is underway

In due time I will tell you all a little more about it.

For now, I’m forever grateful for all of you. ❤️