I once had someone tell me: “You live such a charmed life.” I don’t remember the context of the conversation or why she rolled her eyes when she said it, but the comment has stuck with me for years. I’ve been indignant (As if! I work my tail off, thank you very much.), dismissive (She has no idea what she’s talking

Art can be learned. I’ve taken photography classes and can snap some cute pics of my kids. Piano lessons have ensured I can hack my way through Canon in D. And though I’ve written eight books now (with several more in the form of notes and scribbles and daydreams), I still read books on craft and story development, on ways

I’m late to the Game of Thrones party. Honestly? I watched the first episode years ago and was rather traumatized. (I don’t do gore.) But I love fantasy and I knew that I would love the storyline… And in the end I just had to know what happened to Daenerys Targaryen. (I’m kind of obsessed with her.) Anyway, I’m a

Happy Labor Day, friends! Just popping in to say I’m taking a two-week break from #MuseMonday. Today was filled with bike rides and lawn games, family and friends. Oh, and hair day. Which, if you have a child with natural hair, is: A Thing. But I’m happy to report that after over three hours on my feet, my girl’s hair is

    Last week was a hard week, friends. So difficult, in fact, that when my husband and I were able to (finally!) snag a couple of hours alone together Sunday night we spent a good portion of that time staring at each other in stunned silence. Who knew back-to-school would be so hard for our family? We’ve done this before–for many

  I will never forget my first big publishing meet and greet. My debut novel had released six months prior, and my publisher decided to fly me out to a retail show so I could sign books and rub shoulders with some industry professionals. To say that I was scared to death would be an understatement. I’m a small town

I have a friend who lives by the motto: fake it ’til you make it. And though I love her dearly, I cringe at the thought of “faking it.” Of course, I understand the sentiment behind it. Sometimes, when your palms are sweaty and your heart is beating in your throat, you have to take a deep breath, slap on

  When I started writing for publication in 2006, one my greatest fears was that nobody would want to read what I had written. Or worse, they’d read it and hate it. This fear was so deep it bordered on irrational. People would ask about my upcoming debut and I would demure, saying: “It’s not very good…” Can you believe

I write fiction. And I used to think that admission had to come couched in an apology. A typical conversation with a new acquaintance: “So, what do you do?” “I… um… I write.” Sheepish, because I know how wrong this conversation can go. Have you followed #TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter? ‘Nuff said. “Oh.” Pregnant pause while increasingly-less-likely-to-be new friend imagines and discards a dozen inappropriate