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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

I used to blog. A long time ago in another life. But my calendar says it was just a couple of years ago. Crazy, how time flies. Life gets in the way of words, or maybe, words that have a deadline affixed to them take priority. Anyway, I stopped blogging, even though I liked it. I liked the connection I felt