This week, I tried several times but failed to catch inspiration by the tail. Instead, I caught a sore throat, and a potentially scratched eye, and caught news that a root canal is in my near future. I caught up on sleep by way of much-needed naps. These were the best catches…
For years, I’ve rejected the term “lucky”. To be called “lucky” always felt as if good things happen to you accidentally. You claim the parking spot at the front, “You are so lucky.” You get to travel the world and see amazing sights? “Wow – so lucky!” You live by the beach? …
The full body flight suit I wore was blue, puffy, and unflattering. The helmet tightened over my head, the goggles beetling my eyes, and straps harnessing my chest, my crotch, my waist, my wrists. No one said skydiving was going to be pretty. Actually, no one said it was going to be fun…
Often, writers, myself included, tackle topics that will resonate, topics that will trend, topics that will gain applause or shares, or whatever. Topics that align with our own sense of self-branding I guess. When called to write, but feel a flight of crows chaos in direction or a vacant lot of inspiration,…
Self-acceptance has been a heavy theme this week, emerging from several unconnected conversations with friends and clients. This has been especially true for me this week. Every day, I experienced false starts with my writing, and with other projects with which I am trying to progress. In truth, landing back in Nicaragua (after…
This week I have been struck by inspiration. Not mid-yoga pose, nor ambling down a sunset beach. But somewhere 36,000 or so miles above the ground, seated tightly in the middle seat of coach, soaring towards Los Angeles. Inspiration struck then. And it struck me in a way that might interest a few of…
Plans changing mid-flight. Years ago, I read that line from a poem I found amongst my mother’s things, stacked in a beat-up cardboard box, cob-webbed over from years of shelf life in our dark and stuffy garage. It could be that she wrote this poem, being a writer herself. In my memory,…
“Setenta y siete, setenta y ocho, setenta y nueve, ochenta!” I counted in Spanish as I lifted each baby sea turtle from the red plastic crate and gently placed their tiny wriggling bodies on the damp sand. “77, 78, 79, 80!” It was a lively hatch, and I was grateful for the…
Nearly every morning, I sit on my back porch, a hot coffee in my hand and my little cat Tino sitting somewhere near, scanning the shrubbery for critters, and I write. Sometimes I write about my dreams from the night before. Sometimes about my plans for the day ahead, capturing these thoughts in ink…
Let’s get right to it – the “accidental break” points at the past six weeks of my readers finding their inbox void of my latest piece of writing. I have been writing, but not anything I have wanted to post. Rather, I thought I would maneuver throughout the holiday festivities, indulging in late, late…