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Browsing Tag: fear

Because Fear is Dumb

I’m at a coffee shop (okay, it’s a Panera, because #suburbs) with my husband right now, writing. We have a couple hours until Cian needs to be picked up from preschool, and I often get more work done on these time-crunch work dates than I do any other time. Today, though, is a bit different. I feel free, and a little sad, and sort of refreshed (that last part just could be because I’m showered and out in public and have a second cup of coffee in my bloodstream, but I’ll take it). See, here’s the thing: My second book–the one I called A Version of Lucky, which was about a female friendship gone bad, layered against a fledgling, then flourishing, food truck business, and set against the backdrop of downtown Baltimore–isn’t selling. Which means that no publisher to whom it’s been pitched has offered to buy it. The news isn’t unexpected, nor am I all that dismayed, really. Well, let’s back up–in all honesty, I spent a lot of yesterday moping around, occasionally having…

So Long as They Jump

Saoirse and I were sitting on the couch together the other night, reading. Much to her little sister’s dismay, SK gets to stay up later than her younger siblings. Quinlan, in her imagination, thinks we spend this time gorging on cupcakes, or reenacting episodes of American Ninja Warrior, or laughing at some uproarious movie we’re all watching without her. Not so, though–the nights that Saoirse hangs out downstairs, this is what it is: sitting, reading, quietly talking. (In her defense, Quinlan really wants to just do that, too. She saves the Ninja stuff for other times, like when she’s supposed to be sitting down with us to dinner.) That evening, I was watching the fish wander around their aquarium in their spot across the room. Our smaller goldfish, R2 (or as I like to call her, Dumb) was quietly moving along, just happy to chase the bubbles around her tiny world. Finn, on the other hand (or as I prefer to call him, Dumber), was attacking the rocks that lay on the bottom of the tank, knocking them this way and that with a terrible goldfish-sized clatter in his desperate search…

A New Definition

I spent part of last week at a writer’s retreat in New Mexico–a sentence I just typed with slight disbelief, because when did I become a person who goes to writer’s retreats in New Mexico? Let me just say: whoever tells you that life doesn’t hand you happy surprises once in a while is a person who’s never stepped out of her comfort zone. But back to this this retreat (my first ever writer-ly one, and definitely my first since popping three babies out of a tiny, tiny incision in my belly): I cried on the way to the airport before I left. Like, cried as if this trip were something that was happening to me, rather than a respite for me. Keep in mind that I was one of the first people to sign up for it when it was announced, that it was the exact type of conference I needed (less schmoozing, more writing. Less pressure, more laughter), and that I was SO FREAKING EXCITED to meet all of these people I’d only had the chance to talk with online, and hang out with others…