We’ve all heard the news: A white, young mother—an unarmed U.S. citizen—was shot and killed in Minneapolis by an ICE officer. As the details pile up, each more disturbing than the last, we’re left thinking: This can’t be real. This is like living in some dystopian novel. But reality is refusing to follow story rules. As …
Confession: When I was a single mom, I used SNAP benefits to feed my kids. I also relied on Medicaid for our healthcare. I’ve carried shame about this for years. The voice in my head was relentless: I should be able to do this alone. That feeling of failure wasn’t a result of my judgment alone. …
My alarm was set for five a.m. but I was wide awake before it went off. I hadn’t slept much because I was too “excited”—excitement being what I’ve decided to call anxiety—about my live interview on Canadian morning television. My publicist had booked me on what she called “the Today show of Canada” to talk …
A few years ago, I went to hear author and now presidential candidate Marianne Williamson speak. She was describing a conference she held on race relations in Los Angeles. She said that tension was rising in the room when a white man stood up and angrily addressed an African-American woman.
“We’ve heard about all of this injustice again and again!” he yelled. “This is not helping anything. Why can’t we move on?”
I’ve been working on a new novel, and I have to pause here, already, because just typing those few words is challenging.
I barely like to admit it, because once I say those words a barrage of qualifiers come crashing in. Can I say I’ve been working hard on a new novel? No. Never hard enough.
I don’t usually include photos in my weekly blogs, but this you just have to see to believe—at my house, we have been living in a sock crisis for months. How does this relate to your writing? The excuses you make about why you can’t find the time, or why your stories don’t actually matter, or how it’s fine to let your project limp along as a scrambled, disorganized mess, those have to stop.
Yesterday I went to an event and heard Marcus Lemonis speak. Marcus is the entrepreneur and investor who stars in the TV show The Profit.
Marcus never even took the stage in front of the 4,000 people gathered at the Sears Center, except during one short segment when he interacted with six women he’d called up. Instead, we heard his voice before we saw him.
Bring to mind someone you know who seems to have it all. You know the kind—the Eternal Optimist, the friend with the Midas Touch, the Big Man on Campus.
Someone like Kim, who was the lead singer at the church I attended. She was talented and vivacious, with a powerhouse voice and energy that lit up the stage. Week after week she performed with a smile on her face while I slouched half-asleep in the pew wondering how she did it.
Today I want to make a case for conflict. Nobody likes it, of course, except maybe drama queens, adrenaline junkies, or lawyers.
I personally try to avoid conflict as much as possible. Heck, the subtitle of my memoir is ‘How I Found Peace in Betrayal and Divorce.’ Sometimes, during not so peaceful times, I look at that and feel like an imposter. Or I might repeat the words I found peace, I found peace as if I can make it so.
Several weeks ago, on my way to my yoga class, I noticed an elderly man pulling weeds in his front yard. He was kneeling on a paper bag, working his way slowly through what looked to me like an impossible task.
Because the yard was nothing but weeds. And the house itself, in my ungenerous opinion, was a sort of weed, with sad, faded blue paint, a sagging front porch, and a sidewalk that was crumbling and cracked.
👉 Enjoy dedicated writing space just steps from Lake Michigan
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