Moms, Dreams, and Stupid Questions

My mother drew the unicorn. I can't draw like her. I've always wanted to, but have yet to manage it. Do you compare yourself to your parents? Is there something either on of them did that you wish you could do? My mother started to write a novel. She had only a few chapters written …

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Launching Dreams and Other Madcap Schemes

My novel launched today! (Here at Amazon.) Since the story is set in the summer of 1985, I've been thinking back to those high school days. What were you like in high school? I wasn't popular. I liked to be in the art room with a sketch pad or a book. The drawing posted here …

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What are the ’80s anyway?

Every decade has its personality, right? Although it's tricky because it isn't as if everything changes on January 1st of that zero year. When exactly did the '80s become THE '80s? What historical events mark the period? The election of Reagan perhaps? The beginning of MTV? I graduated in 1986, the year Ferris Bueller skipped …

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Transition Madness

Today I finished chemo. One surgery remains. The toxins will leave my body, my hair will grow back, and I'll get to call myself a survivor. But aren't we all survivors if we make it to another day? I don't know, but I find survivor a strange thing to call myself. Many people are kind …

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Validation, Validation, Validation

October begins! This is the month my novel, The Blue Jar, enters the world as an e-book. At some point, the book may appear in paper form as well. And what writer doesn't dream of holding her book in her hand? I try to be realistic, but I am a writer and an artist. I …

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Counting Down…

October promises many things. Let's hope October keeps such promises. The first Friday of October will be my last day of chemo. Thank the stars. I've had fewer side-effects than many. I'm lucky. This has been week ten of Taxel. The nurse told me that the 10th week is the most common week for neuropathy …

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Getting Closer

A few years ago, I dressed as rejection for Halloween. I pinned all of my rejection letters to my jacket and a red, paper, broken heart to my jacket's lapel. I wrote "No!" and "Go away!" on the palms of my hands. I took my son's toy collapsable knife and pretended every so often to …

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