Category Archives: Personal

I Can Schedule!

Happy Freebie Friday, readers! I’ve actually been out of town. Where? I ain’t telling. Shh. It’s a secret. Nah, I’m in South Dakota. However, I figured out, on Wednesday, I can schedule posts onto my blog for a designated date and time. I am not saying this is a new feature or anything. I’m sure it’s been available for awhile, and I’m just now noticing it for the first time. Not going to lie, I’m a little technologically impaired. Nevertheless, it’s a neat feature, and I thought I would try it out to see if it works. If not, no biggie. If it does, then I’ll know for next time! Well….that was all, really. This turned out shorter than I thought it would. And rather uninteresting. Hmm. So, I guess I’m going to awkwardly end this post here…bye!



Today, I was honestly going to talk about abandonment. My fear of it, how I respond to it, how I deal with it in my everyday life, etc. However, that’s not going to be today’s memoir subject. This morning, I woke up and said no. I will say I’m stuck in an emotional rut right now, but I’m tired of the negativity. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. Tired of taking everything personally. Because, guess what? It’s not all about me. It’s not all about one person. And I’m glad. I don’t want that pressure. I’m not sure of anyone who would.

I feel like if you survey 100 people, most will give you different ways for how they define “hope.” I’m not going to pull the dictionary out for this one. (Yes, I use physical dictionaries instead of Google. Thesauruses, too. I’d rather personally smack someone upside the head with knowledge if it came down to it. Burglars, beware!) Instead, I want to talk about how I define hope. Also, I’m just lazy. I’m not even going to lie.

When I hear the word, I firstly think of one of my best friends who goes by the same name. I’ve always been a person of few enemies and even fewer friends. However, my pretty much sister-from-another-mister and I have been friends for several years. Sometimes, I honestly wonder how we’ve made it this far. It’s no secret I’m an emotional person. I’ve put her through things she nowhere near deserved, so we’ve had our ups and downs like any relationship. But, we’ve made it work, and that’s how I know she’s a real friend.

What do I think of secondly? Well, when I try to think of how I would define hope, my brain flat lines for a few moments. Then it’s all over the place. So I never get a clear answer. People like to say things like, “Oh, I hope the weather stays nice,” or “Man, I really hope my team wins this year.” The only sport I repeatedly watch is NASCAR, so I’ve been known to say, “I hope my favorite driver wins at the end of a good race.” I’ll delve into NASCAR some other time.

All that is fine and dandy. I’m not saying it isn’t. I feel like there’s something more to those four letters than just wishful thinking. I’m a Christian; I was raised Southern Baptist. (Shocking since I tend to write dark and supernatural stuff, eh?) So hope can be capitalized when using it as one of God’s many, many epithets. Even still, I think the meaning of hope can dive deeper because I don’t believe it only pertains to religion. Although one could argue hope can be aligned with faith. Or dreams, for that matter.

My hopes and dreams? Of course, I hope to become a published author. I’ve been diligently working on my first novel. I hope people will read it, and it will touch them in some way. I hope they’ll connect to my characters. I hope readers will walk away with a new perspective on life. I have the typical aspirations of every author. Becoming published is my goal in life.

Yet, there’s still an itch that needs to be scratched. And it’s rather personal. I’m constantly hoping I will change. I mean, down on my knees, begging and hoping I will change. Not in a physical sense. Nor the idea I need to change to fit the world’s mold sense. An emotional sense. Most of the time, the only way I make through each day is hoping I’ll eventually be better. I don’t handle stress well. I tend to lash out at those I care about most. I have no self-confidence. I question my own judgement. I’m always lost in the vast oceans of my inner demons and turmoils. Wrestling with myself day in and day out. As a result, I’m perpetually exhausted. Both mentally and physically.

Hope keeps me alive. I know I’ll be better one day. I have to be better some day. I could go on a whole “religious rant,” but I’m not going to. Here’s why. I’m learning that I am not in control. No matter what religion you are, whether you’re religious or not, one thing stays the same. Life was not created to be controlled. Our best attempts fail. Such is the way of humanity and its hubris.

Long story short, my hope is my reason for life. My passions, my dreams are all funneled through this tiny little of strand of hope I desperately hold on to. That is how I would define the word. Outside of my friend, of course. The will of life is what hope means to me. The motivation to move on, push forward. And, yes, there are actual steps I can take to better myself. I’ve been taking them, slowly but surely. To me, though, it all means nothing if I don’t have hope.


Where I Consider Home

The past couple weeks, I’ve been looking through old photos. And you know what old photos do. They bring up memories, both good and bad. Thankfully, my past photos have  reminded me of a lot of good. Reminded me of the place I still call home. I’ve also been messaging (off and on) a lifelong friend, and that’s also had me thinking.

I’ve moved around a bit. It was kind of a byproduct of my dad’s job. Every eight years, it seemed like. Until I got married three years ago, and I moved in with my husband. We’ve moved three times in those few years. Hopefully, we’ll be set for awhile. Moving is tedious and stressful.

The first eight years of my life, I lived in a little bitty town. In fact, if you Google it, it’s registered as a village. Yep. I was raised, until I was eight years old, in a village. It tickles the fantasy side of me. According to the 2016 census, the town had a population of 285 residents. Just to put it in perspective. Sometimes, I wonder if they’re numbering people or if they’re also adding farm animals with their head count.

So you could say I’m a Midwestern, corn fed kid. But that’s not the whole story. After I was eight, we moved to the suburbs. Unfortunately, I’ve been a suburbanite ever since. But to a country kid, the suburbs were city. I’ve since learned that city is much more massive than I so naively imagined. Still, I went from a place that had roughly 300 people, let’s say, to a place that had almost 22,000 residents. Quite a big jump.

Yes. I hated it. With every single fiber in my being. I grew accustomed eventually. Made a few fleeting friends. After I was sixteen, we moved again. To a city with nearly 70,000 people. Which wasn’t too big of a shock to my system. Yet, there was something that has always nagged the back of my mind.

Where did I call home? Did it matter if I had a home or not? What do I say when people ask me where I’m from? Do people even need to know where I’m from? (I’m a paranoid person.) Where was home?

After some soul-searching, I kept coming back to the little town. The “village.” That was where I wanted to call home. Then I came to the second part of my inquiry. Why was it the place I wanted to call home? Well, my favorite memories are from there. That was my childhood. What I consider the happiest part of my life. (Outside of my marriage, of course. I’m sure the husband will read this. Love you, hun.) I still have dreams about being there. I still cry when I remember how painful it was to leave. The other places? Not so much.

There’s something else. The Smokey Mountains in Tennessee. My family has vacationed there for years. I remember going there for the first time. It absolutely took my breath away. It was so green, so much of a fantasy setting. All I required was a wizard to lead me on an epic journey. I felt different there. Felt…free, so-to-speak. I could hike trails, climb along stream beds, see waterfalls. It was everything I needed to fuel my fictional mind. Everything I needed to clear my mind from stress and the mundane of everyday life.

While I do love the beach and ocean, I like to say my heart belongs to those mountains. I try to go there every year. Or, at least, every other year. It fills me with so much vigor, so much life. Reminds me of the times when I was a kid in the little town and allowed my imagination to soar. I’ve been to many places. I don’t know what it is about the Smokies, but that’s where I want to return. I feel like a piece of me has been left there since the first time I went. There’s a piece of my heart in my hometown, and you can bet your behind, there’s a piece of my heart running through the trees on the Smokey Mountains.

I plan to settle down there sometime. Maybe it’ll be when my husband retires. Maybe it’ll be if I can make money off my books. I don’t know. But I do know I will get there. One way or another, I will have my house in the middle of some of the most beautiful scenery. I will find the piece of my heart and run in the forests with it. I will find my wizard and finally go on that epic journey through the woodlands. Along with the characters I’ve created, the creatures I’ve designed, the dragons I’ve made to ride on the backs of. It’s where I can let my mind be unleashed.

It’s the same sensation I had playing in the woods around my lifelong friend’s house. We could be anything we wanted, whether it be cowboys and space rangers, secret agents, horses, or anything else our limitless, child minds could conjure. It was our sense of freedom. Our sense of belonging. The mountains feel the same way to me. They always have and always will. I can be that little kid again. I can be anything I imagine myself to be. I can be free.

Where do I call home? Well, it’s a two-fold answer. My hometown, I consider to be my past home. The Smokey Mountains, I consider to be my future home. They’re almost the same to me in importance. Both places hold pieces to my heart. And that’s okay. Because I know where I came from, and I know where I will end up.

And it’s always home.

Memoir? Memoir.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the first definition for “memoir” reads as such: “A written account in which someone (such as a famous performer or politician) describes past experiences.” At first, this worried me because I thought only famous people could have memoirs. I am by no means famous. Not even famous among my few friends. I have no intentions of becoming famous. If I finally get my books published and they sell enough that I do reach “famous” level, I suppose I would take it in stride. But the reason I write books has nothing to do with popularity.

Thankfully, the dictionary continued. The second definition for “memoir” states: “A written account of someone or something that is usually based on personal knowledge of the subject.” This was what I was looking for. So, in a sense, I have written memoirs before as parts of school projects, and I hadn’t realized the exact definition of what I had written.

Now that I’ve established a memoir is what I thought it was, there comes the decision of what do I start with? Given that I stick to this weekly plan, there are fifty two weeks in the year. That means fifty two memoirs in one year. I know I haven’t had the most exciting life, but I have more than enough topics to fill fifty two slots. At least, I think I do.

Today can be a memoir about, well, memoirs. Redundancies, I know.

One of the main reasons I want to write these memoirs lies in the fact of I want to remember. It is proven that our brains tend to push out memories and facts it deems unimportant to make ways for new information. I’ve already noticed my short term memory has become highly forgetful, and I’m afraid it will start transferring to the long term memories as well. I may not have the most interesting tales, but they’re what make me, me.

And let’s use our imaginations and say my books do sell, they do make enough money I that I reach what most consider the coveted “famous” level. I still plan on keeping this blog. I have yet to reason why I would get rid of it. There are times when I like to go back and read what I’ve already written. See how I grow and how my subject matter revolves. So, if I do become famous, I want to be able to remind myself where I came from and how I got to be. I want to remain humble. There is no need for pride in an already arrogant, self-absorbed world.

In closing for today’s Memoir Monday, I hope these upcoming personal stories will provide some entertainment. Perhaps some insight on why my brain instinctively chooses some of the themes that I do. Give a glimpse into a simple life to reassure you you’re not the only one who has or is struggling with a particular matter. At any rate, I hope you enjoy.

New Plan

After having a couple days of thought–and bothering a close friend of mine until she stopped saying “It’s your blog, do what you want to do”–I believe I have devised a plan. Though, I’m still unsure as to whether or not it will actually work. But here’s to hoping, right? I’m pretty sure a wise being once said, “Do or do not. There is no try.” So, this is what I plan to do:

Sketching Sunday
Memoir Monday
Photography Tuesday
Writing Prompt Wednesday
Poetry Thursday
Freebie Friday
Short Story Saturday

A few things to note. Firstly, I added sketching because I used to do it all the time (before I became a die-hard perfectionist with my art), and I had relatively decent confidence in my drawing skills. I’m honestly not sure what happened other than I stopped sketching. Secondly, I have no idea if Monday will stay as “memoir.” Are people even interested in that sort of thing? It’s not like I’ve led a particularly exhilarating life. I guess I’ll find out. Let’s see…. Thirdly, I love writing prompts. Normally, I find them on my own–in nature, observing other people, daily life, etc. However, I will be using predetermined, freely-handed out writing prompts. I have a bunch saved, and it’s about time I put them to use. Lastly, I’m in love with “Freebie Friday” because it gives me a day that isn’t set. So if I have an extra poem, short story, photo, whatever I want, I can post it on Friday.


Well. Enough said. I’m fairly satisfied with my new plan. Fingers crossed I can be disciplined. I suppose I better use this space to apologize in advance in case I’m not consistent. Or if I forget. I happen to be a forgetful person. Or if I screw it up. I’m sure that’s bound to happen at some point. Anyhoo, I’ll leave this here for now. I’ll start tomorrow with “Freebie Friday.” As I said in my previous post, if you have any suggestions or tips, I’ll be more than happy to read them in the comments! Thanks again!

Looking for Feedback

So, obviously, we are in a new year. The next few days will be people making all kinds of resolutions and trying their hardest to keep them. Some may only make their resolutions last this week, some may make it a month, maybe six months. Congratulations if you’re one of those people who can keep a resolution for a whole year. That takes discipline. Do I have any resolutions? No. Because I’m not disciplined, a New Year resolution is simply setting myself up for failure. However, I would like to talk to you guys about something while we’re on the topic of discipline.

A little bit ago, I used to be extremely consistent about posting something on this blog every single day. Whether it be short stories, photography, poems, art, etc. Unfortunately, life happens, I get stressed, and I make excuses to do as little as possible to keep myself sane. That’s something I would like to change. I’ve been trying to think of ways to keep myself posting once a day, and I think I may have come up with a solution. But I would appreciate everyone’s input.

I was thinking each day of the week could be themed. Like Wednesday could be Writing Prompts. Friday could be…free verse? Short story Saturday. Shooting Sunday for photography. No. No, that title won’t work. You know what I’m trying to get across, don’t you? Basically creating a calendar of content to keep me focused. This is where I need guidance.

When I was younger, I could not follow a weekly chore chart to save my life. Not even in my teenage years. Don’t ask me why; I couldn’t tell you. I never did it on purpose. It was just something that I never thought about, I guess? Long story short, I am not disciplined. Therefore, I think a routine might help me, but I also think it might not.

I guess what I’m trying to get across is: I really like the idea of themed days for the week, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pull it off. I don’t want to let anybody down. I need your help. Has anyone structured a fiction blog like this? Does it work? Are there other tips I can try? I just want to be consistent for you all and provide daily content. Please leave suggestions, tip, tricks, etc. in the comments! Thank you all so much for your support!



Time to take another break from fiction for today. On my way home from work, I saw a sign that read, “If everything is coming your way, you’re probably in the wrong lane.” The more I thought about it, the more  I realized the depth behind it, as it’s a rather multi-faceted saying. It can apply to both the good and the bad in life.

When most people read or hear the above quote, they most likely think it’s referring to the good things of life. Now, don’t get me wrong. Blessings are wonderful things. And I don’t think many of us would still be here if our lives were only negative, all the time. Positives, I do believe, are a must. But what happens when only positive things come our way?

There’s that saying of “too much of a good thing can be bad.” I believe it. Because, if there’s only good, what do we learn? Most life lessons come from experiencing the bad circumstances. In my opinion, how we face and overcome the negative helps shape who we are and will ultimately become. We learn nothing when only good happens to us.

Another bad thing to only receiving the positive side of life is the false sense of security that comes with it. Unfortunately, we are creatures of habit. We fall into routines. Again, blessings are not bad things, but if we never face trials, we never expect them. If I only have good things come my way, why would I think that anything bad could happen to me? Which also leads us to viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses, and we forget that evil exists.

But then comes the flip side of the above quote. The bad things in life. While the ideal world is a perfect world, I think bad things are a necessary evil at this point. We do reap what we sow. And more often than not, we need that harvest to keep ourselves in check. So what does happen when only negative things come our way?

Well, I think this one is a bit more self-explanatory than the positive side. For the most part, I think the negative experiences are crucial teaching tools. Yet, we’ll never remember what we learn if we’re not given time to rest and reflect. Constantly being berated by life wears us out more than anything. If we lose the mental capacity to live, much less think over situations, we still aren’t going to learn anything.

Another negative to the the negative–it often leads to depression. Whether or not people want to admit it. If there’s no light at the end of the tunnel, why would we continue? Again, creatures of habit. We get stuck. Lost in ruts. To the point where it’s not worth even looking for a way out. It is extremely taxing on the psyche. If I’m only receiving negatives, I’m not going to expect positives, and I’m going to stay where I am. We give up.

Regardless of how we view the above quote, I think it comes down to a few questions. What are we doing that’s keeping us in one lane? Or, what choices are we making that’s keeping us in one lane? What are we choosing that’s keeping us strictly in the positive lane? What are we choosing that’s keeping us strictly in the negative lane? Everything comes down to a choice.

And it’s okay. It’s okay to experience the negative, even if all you’ve known is positive. It’s okay to experience the positive, even if all you’ve known is negative. Sadly, our world is not perfect. But balance can be achieved. Good and bad go hand-in-hand. We just have to choose to find the balance, to stay in the middle of the two lanes.

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