Plot Holes and Other Existential Crises

For those of us that never saw our stories as anything other than stand alone, and now we are writing not only sequels but complete series. This, to anyone outside the creative community, sounds like someone complaining over too many ideas. When in reality, we became plotters instead of pantsers and quilters instead of plantsers.

What are the pros and cons of this, you might be asking yourself. Well first off, it can throw monkey wrenches the size of Texas into a story. Why? Because last book Character A did something that was a one off that now has to be explained. Or if it's anything like 4 Queen for 4 King, where the main cast from book 1 reappear in books 1-4. But it’s not in a prominent way. They are literally in the background until about halfway through. 

Pros of being able to write/plot a series… More time to explain and explore the world as a whole. You honestly get to show every detail, problem solve, and in a lot of ways show everyone’s true colors by the end of the series, even the writers. Another pro is you don’t have to just let the story fade, not just yet. If there is an avenue you haven’t strutted down, you have the opportunity in the next installment.

Cons, which is currently the bane of my brain's existence. Every plot line, existential crises, character’s attitude has the ability to take over, especially if you're working with a big cast. Even when it's not their turn to be the center of attention. Also if you're a free flowing pantser, you now have to pull back and ask yourself the hard questions. Like does or doesn’t this fuck with your magic system. Did this new character do something that is completely unheard of for this world? And what events do you want to see happen, without playing out the exact same story line from the first book. 

This also goes into the questions who will be in the next book. What part of the plot line needs to be carried over and what can be unique to the next story. Will there be an overall theme for the series or will you just throw things at the wall until it sticks. And the biggest one of all… do you give the villain, who remarkably stayed alive in book 1, a redemption arc or find another way to end them. Do you let the characters have choices or do you make concrete decisions that could very well derail the creativity and process if not handled in a timely manner? 

There is no wrong way to write a story, book, or series. There are some uncomfortable truths we do our best to ignore like its the plague. And while most view us as complaining, they don’t see the three or four main characters almost ripping each other apart over something trivial. The side characters that became just interesting enough that people really noticed when they disappeared. Now they have their own novella in the subseries. And the Badass Female, she’s sitting over on the work bench with a strong ass coffee debating her own life choice, let alone the ones you gave her to deal with.

Even though we created the world, we are not the rulers of it. We are the vessels that hold their stories until it's time to tell them. So, which character turned you on your head today? Which series has you groaning, because you never had any intention of writing it? And the Biggest question of all… How much do you still love what you do? Leave me some comments below. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

Writing While the World Falls Apart

It’s Monday afternoon and welcome to another installment of Chaos from the Keyboard. Has anyone else had an overly draining weekend that has now resulted in their family complaining about every little thing? No? Just me? Shame…. It's so much fun dealing with this (please for the love of God say you can hear the sarcasm).

Okay let's break it down…. Friday went awesome for me and the Gremlin. He ate, went to bed on time (or at least before Midnight.), I even had a battle plan to get my writing assignment done. Then Murphy’s Law kicked me in the shin. One of the cats got sick on my shoe, my mouse decided it wasn’t going to work anymore, my office chair is making a popping noise, and my bedroom T.V. decided to give me the black screen of death while still giving me sound. And that was just the tip of the damn ice burge.

The back hall floor is still not fixed, neither are the four or five spots I’ve asked my husband to look at. Which put me another weekend behind getting laundry done. My kitchen is cleaner but still a lot more work to deal with in there. And I’m marching through the house picking up things that have no business being in their current location. 

Now to the complaining…. Hubby can’t find his socks for work, Gremlin is having tummy troubles, and I’m looking for more side work to help keep us afloat. Because as much as I would love to go back to a 9-5 (I really don’t but for a steady paycheck) I can’t. We share a car, Gremlin’s schedule with speech, and let's face it someone has to be here and awake if something breaks loose at the school. So, here I am keeping shit running the best I can.

It’s not easy for any of us right now. While yes, I am a full time Writer/Author. I’m also a full time stay at home parent. I am the butcher, baker, and candle stick maker. I, like a lot of y’all, are the only thing keeping shit running. There is no other option for me. 

So, I have been on Fiverr and Upwork a good part of my day. I have been looking for other side work and editing gigs to keep things going while also trying to remain calm. Because it isn’t going to work if I'm the one losing my shit. 

If you happen to be the one in the middle of all this chaos, and you feel like you're the only one. 9/10 you're not. NOT EVEN CLOSE BUTTERCUP. So, go drink you some water (and no this time coffee doesn’t count. Juice does though) Take a lot of deep breaths, scream into a pillow if that is needed. Then straighten your fucking crown… cause we got work to do. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Mom. Writer. Therapist. Taxi. Repeat.

It’s FRIDAY! How was everyone’s week? Mine was about the same as usual with a balance of being present for my kiddo and trying to keep all the chainsaws in the air. I will say it's exhausting having to be everything for everyone, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t give me purpose. 

Mom mode is making sure Gremlin has all his needs met while also advocating for him. That’s not just advocating for him at school, with doctors and specialists, and people that don’t fully understand what a Non Verbal Autistic child looks/ acts like. It’s standing up to people that should also love and protect him that see him as a problem or puzzle to fix/ solve. Sometimes the outside world isn’t as cruel as the actual family. Which leads into protecting your peace and that of your child.  

Therapist and sounding board, for those around me, gives insight into situations that I might not ever experience. Which falls into the “more you know the more you can help” category. This also opens up the line of communication, where people know they can text or call and I’ll be there. 

For example: I have friends, or (as I like to explain) chosen family all over the United States. This one person lives in the NJ. Every time they can’t figure out a car problem, they contact me. 9/10 times I know the answer or can figure it out. This last weekend, I walked them through replacing an alternator. Stayed on Video chat until they were squared away. My other bestie lives in Indiana. I’m already trying to figure out the best way to get up to her to get her truck back on the road. As I’ve already made that 7.5 hour run to do it once before. And these are just a few examples.  

When it comes to my husband, well I hear every little thing about a company I haven’t worked for since November 1st 2021. He still works there on second shift. Which means every damn conversation is about supervisors, workplace politics, and how they weren’t working this weekend and now they are working this weekend. Which lands on the will you please talk about something that matters but in the end to him it all matters.

Taxi… This isn’t as much as it used to be, but we were without a car there for a bit. Wednesdays and Thursdays are the only time I really leave the house right now. Gremlins speech therapy and bills. And I will say it's rather nice. Even though the enclosure of my office feels more like an exhibit than a working environment. Probably because I put my feet on the floor and walked 20 steps to the bathroom, 10 back to the kitchen to grab my drink, and 10 to my office chair. Come to think of it, taxi was a little more fun than this. LMAO.

And Last but never least, Writer. This is the hard part. This is the delicate balancing act between character and reality. Being present for those around me and off creating a world so few can see as vividly as I can. Thousands of interruptions and losing a train of thought, all to compete with deadlines that are self imposed. Which goes along with the post from either yesterday or the day before. 

For a lot of writers, this is a side gig. Still very passionate about the work but it doesn't pay the bills. Me… Writing is my career. Royalties from Destined for More and Crossroads are what I have outside my husband. So bad months of sales could be the difference in Christmas money and trying to combat rising costs. 

These are the thoughts that plague my brain on a the daily. Keeping everything perfectly spinning without dropping. What is your matrix? How do you look at your efforts? I know I look at each thing, smile, and keep pushing forward.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

The Trauma Behind the Trope

Tropes aren’t necessarily where we start as storytellers, but by the time we are done, you have all the key players falling into some sort of category. With the explosion of booktok and other social media platforms, let's just say things have gotten interesting in the last few years. Especially in regard to people, women most definitely, being open about what they like to read. 

You all know the more popular of those tropes. The broken guy who drinks too much. The girl with scars no one can see. The lone wolf who doesn’t need anyone… until they do. The brooding man and his need to be the hero. The broken woman, who’s the damsel in distress. The list really does go on and on depending on where you fall.

Readers eat these stories up, and writers keep dishing them out as fast as possible to stay relevant. And on the surface, it looks like just another cliché. Between the tragic backstory, the “trauma dump” that explains why a character is so messed up to the woman that can “fix” him. But here’s the thing: behind every trope like that, there’s a very real thread of truth. Pain doesn’t come out of nowhere. Neither do the stories we tell.

For some of us, writing that broken character isn’t just about moving the plot forward. It's about survival. A survival that no one would really believe unless they stepped into our shoes. It’s about bleeding on the page in a way that feels safe. It’s about giving our own trauma a name, a face, a storyline, so it doesn’t eat us alive in silence. Because in the end we control the narrative where we didn’t have the chance to before. 

The problem comes when trauma gets turned into shorthand. When a writer slaps on a tragic backstory without thinking it through. “Daddy issues.” “Dead mom.” “Addicted brother.” “War vet with nightmares.” You’ve seen it. And when it’s handled that way, the trope stops being a reflection of real pain and starts being a gimmick. Trauma reduced to a buzzword that sells books instead of bringing understanding.

Here’s the truth no one wants to admit: trauma changes people in ways that are messy, contradictory, and sometimes plain ass ugly. It doesn’t follow a neat three-act structure, with character development and sometimes a redemption arc. It makes you withdraw, it makes you lash out, and it can make you do both in the span of an hour, because confronting it on the page is no different than confronting it in real life. 

That’s why it’s important for writers to handle it with care, so these tropes stop being cheapened and start being powerful. The broken man isn’t just broken. He is resilience wrapped in leather and tattoos. The scarred girl isn’t just a victim. She's navigating what survival looks like in a world that tried to take her out of the equation. The lone wolf isn’t actually alone. They're just terrified of trusting anyone again, for fear of reliving the nightmare. 

And yeah, sometimes writing those characters means ripping open the old wounds to remember the terror, disbelief, and fear. It puts pieces of yourself on the page that you’d never confess out loud. That’s the part readers rarely see: the writer behind the trope, the person who knows what the weight of that silence feels like. And the stone eyes, only we can describe with perfect clarity because we look at them everyday in the mirror. 

See, it’s not the tropes that are the problem. The lack of truth and conviction behind the story written for the masses. The lack of education into what is put on the page. For some it's their lives, for others… Well, let's just say they’ve made a healthy living off of cookie cutter material because it sells. It’s a card that has been played so many times that a lot of readers can predict the ending from a lot of authors by what they’ve previously done.

For some, it is what it is. They are making good money following the same formula. For those of us that broke away from that or never really played on that kind of field, it can be exhausting. But I live by this simple rule when it comes to that. I write for me, if it makes a difference great, if not well I already did the damn thing.  

So the next time you see that “overdone tragic backstory,” I want you to pause for a second. Ask yourself: is it lazy writing, or is it someone quietly telling you the hardest part of their story in the only way they know how? Is this someone finally working through their issues and exercising their demons or is it someone that sees this as trending information?

Because behind every trope is a trauma, behind every trauma is a person, and behind every person is a situation that didn’t play out that well in real life. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Burnout Wears Lip Gloss Some Days

Good Wednesday Morning Peps! We are halfway through the week. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel like I’m somewhere between “I’m going to get shit finally done today” and “Why do I have so much to do today?” Questions, most of us parents, ask ourselves before we start the major overhaul of our homes. 

With school now in full swing around here, I’m week 2 into having the Gremlin out of the house during the day. You would think moving through the house would be easier. It isn’t. Mostly because I’m still battling exhaustion, depression, and burnout. An uphill battle that has me feeling like the worst version of myself, even though no one else sees the fight. 

Burnout isn’t always messy. Sometimes it gets dressed, throws its hair up in a mess bun, prays the clothes are clean and pretends it has its life together. Because God forbid people actually see the mess our lives really are, and fully understand we are holding it together with hopes, dreams, and a caffeine addiction. Hell, some operate off pure damn rage and spite. 

That’s the default version I run off of more often than not. The one who folds laundry like a champ, checks things off lists, and still looks presentable enough to trick the world into thinking she’s thriving. It’s the “I’ve got this” version that I’ve accepted is all smoke and mirrors. That only a very slim amount of people knows where to look for the cracks.

Here’s what it really looks like:

Waking up at 3am because the Gremlin needed something or the meds burned through his system too quickly, and your brain decides to stay awake even after they’re back asleep, because we aren’t sure if we or our partner will hear the alarm. Then it's “where’s the socks?”, “That shirt doesn’t go with those shorts.”, “Did you check his backpack?” and that’s all before coffee has passed your lips. 

Then you find yourself either starting your day or laying down for just a few hours. But by the time you rejoin the land of the living shit has gone sideways, it's now noon, and the bus will be back with the little in less than two hours. OR you find yourself sitting in silence at 8 a.m. because it’s the only quiet you’ll get all day. 

Already negotiating with yourself about which fires can actually burn a little longer before you deal with them. Mapping out zones in your head like you’re planning a military operation. Zone 1 (the kid’s room, bathroom, hallway), Zone 2 (living room, staging ground), and so on. Oh, and let's not talk about that story line that has been playing in your head like a bad 90s jingle.  

Burnout wears a tank top, ripped jeans, falling apart sneakers, and just enough eyeliner to keep anyone from looking too closely at fractured puzzle pieces. Burnout wears lip gloss when I fold two loads of laundry and put them away like it’s proof I’m still a functional adult. 

It wears lip gloss when I tell myself I’ll write for forty-five minutes and then tackle another corner of chaos. It wears lip gloss when I walk into the living room, gather every misplaced piece of laundry, and drag it all into the kitchen staging area, so I can trick myself into believing I’m making progress. It’s not screaming at the top of my lungs for help that honestly will not come. 

From the outside, it looks productive. From the inside, it feels like I’m dragging myself through molasses in -40 weather. The lip gloss is just the cover. The shine. The illusion. That keeps my ass sane when this crazy shit is my life. This is my monkeys and circus, but no one ever said I was actually in charge when they were running with scissors. 

That’s the sneaky part about burnout; it doesn’t always look like collapse. It doesn’t always look like falling apart on the bathroom floor or crying in the car. Sometimes it looks like a one-woman wrecking crew who gets 75% of the house wrangled by bedtime. Sometimes it looks like competence. Sometimes it even looks like success.

But the shine wears off. And when it does, what’s left is the part I have to remind myself is okay: the unfinished rooms, the skipped chores, the writing that waits until tomorrow. Because pretending I’m fine doesn’t actually refill the tank. And these days I’m running through spoons and fucks like there is a dump truck of both sitting in the yard.

Burnout in lip gloss is still burnout. And no matter how good I get at disguising it, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I don’t owe anyone my explanations, time, or energy. I do owe myself honesty, grace, and a little credit. Some days, “good enough” is enough.

So, when you find yourself on the other side, trying to catch a break, know you are not alone. Shit happens and as long as the kids are fed, they have clean clothes for the next day, and the animals didn’t end up with a surprise haircut, its fine. Everything is fine. The world is on fire, but it was on fire yesterday so its fucking fine.

Now go get you something to drink, sit in peace for a few more minutes, then rock that bitch like it owes your ass money. I’ll catch you tomorrow or the day after.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

This Book Betrayed Me… In the Best Way

Hey Hey… It’s Tuesday Peps. How’s it going so far to start off your week?  I’m hanging in there as always trying to hit the grind between house and work. But I have had a question floating around in my noggin for a few days now that I would like to present to the class. It’s something I was asked by one of our new followers over on Hold My Pen Promptcast. 

How much thought do we put into the words we write? And what makes a scene difficult to write?

Most of us can relate to the painstaking, gurgling hours we put into each and every story or submission for the show. While most of the time the words just fall out and we have to make sense of them before presenting them to the public, some scenes hit us like a freight train, making it hard to deal with. 

I, personally, have been accused, on more than one occasion, of either using my stories as therapy or putting my characters through unnecessary pain. I see it as making, especially my female characters, relatable. We have all been through some shit and were still standing when the dust settled. Like Rose from Destined for More or Piper from Crossroads, things happen so quickly and choices have to be made. 

Most of those situations revolve around “do I lay down and take it” or “do I stand and fight”. My chicks don’t just stand and fight. No… No… Hell NO. They take the situation like a bull by the horns. Timid at first but once they find their footing on unstable ground, they hit and hit hard. Normally with some sort of need for self-preservation, but it's a 50/50 split.

So, really quick before we move on. How would you answer those questions? 

Now, on to the story that wrecked me in the most perfect way. And before anyone asks, it's nothing I’m currently writing. Not yet at least. It's actually something one of my friends wrote. CR McCormack. She writes the Dolan Syndicate series. Now, mafia books are one of my guilty pleasures that I swore I would never write. Because of her I did so without realizing until I was so far in I couldn’t stop myself. 

Her, I think My Neighbor is a Mobster, is the perfect mix of Hallmark meets GoodFellas. But it was Mobster and the PTA, which is the only one in the series that isn’t a romance. That sucker punched me in the gut. Big intimidating Mobster playing parent to a 6-year-old. And while he grumbles through damn near the whole thing. You can tell he loves her and cares about her. Which is one thing we have somehow lost sight of in literature. 

Not everything has to be sex, lust, drugs and rock-n-roll. There can actually be a plot, respect for the other, and still have the begging if it's written right. You can also still show these heartwarming moments that are still very much “touch her and die”, with a “this is my family, and no one hurts my family”. 

While you're deciding on your next book choice, consider checking out CR’s stuff. Link Listed below.

https://books2read.com/ap/RWrO9N/CR-McCormack

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Plotting, Like Productivity, Is a Lie I Tell Myself

    I swear I started my weekend with the best of intentions, as I always do. We all have that mantra “I’m going to get the laundry done, I’m going to get the kitchen cleaned, the office is going to get handled…” You know the shit we have been too busy during the week to keep up on, even though it's been a steady ass battle. 

Saturday, as much as I tried, I got nowhere with anything that wasn’t writing. That was mostly due to some last minute projects I had to button up for others during the week. And while I don’t regret a single moment of helping these authors, my writing assignment for Saturday’s show was still only half done. And while I’m known for finishing it up at the final hour, that puts me in a panic mode that is hard to come out of prior to the show.  

Then we come to Yesterday… Sunday… the day of rest and family time for most. Not in this house. Sunday seems to be the only day where everyone is home and still mentally checked out from the week before while setting up for the next. This is the day most promises get broken for the amount of work actually displayed. 

For example: Hubby starts around Wednesday giving me the song and dance of what all he’s going to get done the coming weekend. Either he sleeps the weekend, does half the damn chore and then “ohh shinies it”. Or sits and watches anime with the “I’ll get to it in a minute.” But I stupidly thought yesterday would be different. 

We have both been running on the under recommended amount of sleep for a bit. But when we got up Sunday we had a solid 5 hours. He was supposed to start laundry and I was starting on the office. Why the office? This is where I spend the vast majority of my time working from home and piloting the ship of this family.

Let’s face facts here. If the rest of the house has gone to hell you can bet your ass my office is ten times worse. Mainly due to it becoming the catch all the rest of my house has already become. I looked around my office to get a mental game plan before I started. The shelves, the desk, the piles of “I’ll get to that later” junk, and thought: Today is the day. Which is what I do with every room as I try my hardest to conquer. 

But it wasn’t until I knocked over a large pile of papers, that I had fucking had it. And while cursing in my head, I vowed there would be no more knocking things over with my elbow. No more stepping around the same damn stack of papers, piles of laundry, doom boxes like it’s a piece of abstract furniture. No more of treating my space like a dumping ground instead of the creative environment that it's supposed to be.

And you know what? I actually did it. I hit it hard, made a real dent that you can visually see, and got more than half the office done. For once, I was proud of myself. The Gremlin even helped like the little rockstar he is. Mostly just taking his toys back to his room instead of being in here but hey a win is a flipping win.

Which was short lived. How? Well, I went to ask my hubby a question about something, and he was nowhere to be found. Not at the table, not on the couch, not helping Gremlin pick up his room, and not in the back hall handling laundry. While I was waist deep in papers, he decided to go lay down and take a damn nap. He literally waited until I was knee-deep in chaos, snuck off to bed, and left me running the ship solo.

And when did he finally decide to join the land of the living? 11:30pm… I already had Gremlin fed, bathed, and sound asleep for school this morning with over half the office cleaned, while he had been passed out for nearly 10 to 11 hours. His only response once he saw what I had done…. Why didn’t I work on the living room and dining room (it’s one big room) instead of my office. And would I lay out Gremlin’s clothes before I went to bed.

Then this morning, he pulled the ultimate betrayal: turned off my alarms so I couldn’t get out of bed at 7:30am. Like my productivity depended on his sabotage. Spoiler alert: it worked. I didn’t crawl out of bed until almost noon.

Which brings me to the realization in my writing life that I’ve been avoiding: plotting is a lie.

I plot my days like I half ass plot my books. I know what needs to be done or where I’m headed in the story. It's meticulous in theory, an absolute trainwreck in practice. I’ll sketch out the perfect arc: clean the office, finish laundry, feed everyone, write 1,000 words. Sounds great on paper. But in reality? The characters (aka, my family) improvise their own damn lines, the subplots (like Hubby turning off alarms) come out of nowhere, and the neat story structure goes up in flames before the first act or even draft is over.

But here’s the thing: even when my plotting fails, the story still moves forward. The office is cleaner. Gremlin was taken care of. I may not have followed the script, but I still wrote a chapter in the chaos that is my life.

So maybe, plotting isn’t really the lie. I just keep forgetting it’s supposed to be a suggestion, not a guarantee. Because lets face facts… we like to think we control the characters, then they say hold my beer. Chaos. We are all Chaos. So… What’s the lie you keep telling yourself? I can’t wait to hear it. Drop it in the comments below.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

What I Learned from My Kid This Week: First full week.

    It’s Friday, y’all! And I’ll say it's been one hell of a week. Gremlin just completed his first full week back. And while I’m always worried about him being out of my sight, something has kinda changed for both of us this year. I don’t know if it's because he’s been in the same school since kindergarten or maybe even because, during the teacher swap, he got the same amazing teacher he already had. Whatever it happens to be, has us settling into the old routine like seasoned pros around here. 
There are some things I have learned from him so far this school year.
Lesson #1: The backpack is a black hole.
    Every day, I unzip it expecting to find homework or maybe a snack wrapper. Instead, I find mystery objects that I’m not really sure anyone knew were there. For example: a rock…. It wasn’t a big rock. But when I pulled it out of his backpack, he started going 90 to nothing jabbering. So “very important” rock. 
Lesson #2: Routine is a loose suggestion.
    If you have been around for a minute, you know the Gremlin has a war on sleep. Whether that be on school days or not. So, we do our best to set him up for success. Clothes are laid out each night, shoes and backpack are together in his room, and everything is picture perfect for hubby to handle the morning and put him on the bus. Funny how this is where we start the week. 
    By Wednesday into Thursday, Ares is waking up fresh as a Daisy, while we are running around like chickens with no heads missing a foot. Can’t find any of his new shirt, his new jeans have a mystery stain by the ankle, he is refusing everything but dunken sticks for breakfast, and he had to wear a pair of my husband's socks. Why cause no one knows where the 40 (not even joking) pairs of his are.
Lesson #3: Kids are better at boundaries than we are.
    Gremlin has no problem indicating, “I’m tired” or just “done” for the day. He comes home might or might not have a snack. Has me put on his movie. Then climbs into bed with the covers thrown over his head. This is the “do not talk to me”, “look at me”, or “try to engage” unless you want the wrath of a 4’6” titan. There is a hell of a lot of FAFO in that child. 
    Meanwhile, I’m over here ignoring my own exhaustion because laundry doesn’t fold itself. I’m starting to think maybe he’s got it figured out.
Lesson #4: Even little victories count.
    We had smiley faces all week. Which means he did what he was told, followed directions, and didn’t have a meltdown. WIN across the board. And Yes, I did get him ice cream for when he gets up from his nap.
    The truth is, sending your kid back to school isn’t just about them learning. It’s about us learning too. To adapt, to let go, to embrace the chaos, and maybe even take a break when we need it. Some of these kiddos, like mine, have no room for BS. Yes, due to the nature of his nonverbal, we struggle bus it a lot of days. But then there are days when things just click. 
    So, here’s to week one. We survived… and we’ll do it all again Monday. Hopefully, with a better game plan and some extra minutes of sleep. Have a great weekend guys. See you on the show tomorrow night on Twitch. 7c/8e Hold My Pen Promptcast.
Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

Ink, Rage, and Reclamation

Happy Thursday everyone. How's everyone's week going so far? Are we hanging in there? Good. If not, chin up, shoulders back and remember you're a badass. Today, we are starting a new topic for Thursdays. As in I have thought about it, and now I’m actually going to do it. LMAO. Thursday’s are going to be titled Ink-Stained Secrets. Also, If you read to the end you will be able to see what each day’s topic actually is. Alright on with the show.

Some if not most days, the pen feels heavier than it should. For what pours out of that ink is a world that I have cultivated, characters that chose me to tell their story, and real life issues everyone can half ass relate to. It's an emotionally taxing job. You're holding someone else’s  anger, frustration, and chaos that words usually can’t contain only actions. And some days, that weight is exactly what I need.

Because truth be told, a shit ton of what’s on that paper, is someone’s therapy. Dealing with complex situations, emotions, and trauma. Playing it back hoping that the character can hold out just long enough to either escape or have their knight show up in a search and rescue. Hoping the whole time, you're not turning off or disengaging the reader.

I’ve learned that rage doesn’t always have to destroy, or be destructive. It can create. Sitting down with a blank page, a notebook, or even just a stream of typed words, I pour the chaos onto it. The house still isn’t perfect, the bills still loom, and the world keeps spinning, but in that moment, I reclaim something that feels like mine: control, expression, clarity. Because like my characters, It was never my fucking fault.

You know I have been accused by my besties (Izzy and Patrick) that I cause unnecessary trauma to my characters. Especially the female ones that walk through literal fire, to come out the fucking reborn Pheniox on the other side. That’s not a by chance thing. It is very much a clue into the situation I have overcome. 

Because any author that says there isn’t at least a little bit of self insert into their books is either lying to themselves or cookie cutter. Which is very much a “you do you boo”. I’m personally out there in left field and everyone already knows it. I don’t hide who I really am. The same person you see on Saturday Night’s over on Twitch (Hold My Pen Promptcast 7c/8e) is the same person you will meet at a signing event. Also, the same person you will see at Wal-Mart. 

My writing doesn’t erase the trauma, but it sure as hell gives it a shape, a rhythm, a container. It transforms the noise in your head into something tangible. Something you can confront, understand, and, little by little, master. Ink, paint, keys, brushes, whatever medium you choose, becomes the battleground where rage turns into reclamation. And Guess what, sweetheart? NO ONE HAS TO LIKE IT BUT YOU! Fuck what anyone else’s opinion happens to be on the subject. It isn’t about them… It’s about you.

So tell me: when was the last time you let your ink, your words, or your art reclaim your power? How did it feel to turn chaos into something tangible? Because raw emotion is just creative energy begging for somewhere to go, be seen, and really be felt.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Mondays — Chaos from the Keyboard (Writing, Creativity, Author Life)

Tuesdays — Plot Holes & Panic Buttons (writer quirks, plot rants, chaotic craft moments)

Wednesdays — Juggling Chainsaws & Mental Health (Mental Load, Healing, Survival)

Thursday — Ink-Stained Secrets (trauma, introspection, personal revelations)

Fridays — Mom Mode: Engaged (Parenting, Special Needs, Family Chaos)

Executive Dysfunction and the Writer Brain

Ever have a brilliant idea? You know the ones I’m talking about. The one where you are scouring the internet, apps, and even Facebook to see if anyone else has done it. Or a little recon on what they did so you can do it differently? And the moment you are positive this will work, you sit down, open that new document or pull out that notebook you were saving for just this story. You have everything right there at your finger tips… and then forget what you were going to do, where you put your pen, all just five minutes later? 

Welcome to the writer's brain in full executive dysfunction mode. It’s like juggling chainsaws… while riding a unicycle… on a windy day…. while small children ask you riddles no one has the answer to. 

I know that sounds dramatic but when you really think about it… I’m not wrong. See for me, it shows up in the small, some would say insignificant, ways that just send me over the damn edge before the caffeine has made me human. A messy desk, my chair being moved, my charger falling behind the desk, half-started projects that are judging me from the screen, a to-do list that feels like a minefield or mountain. 

Some days, I know exactly what needs to be done and how I’m going to get the most out of my day before my Gremlin, you know the one I made not the ones roaming like a cyclone in my head, decides to Mommy me. But then the characters start screaming like they’ve had no home training, the cat keeps knocking my mouse off the desk, and my brain goes into screen saver mode. All the tasks that I’m supposed to be actively working on, and plots decide to hide like they’re Easter eggs, and I didn’t sign up for the hunt. And don’t even get me started on the house chaos that somehow mirrors my mental clutter.

Executive dysfunction isn’t laziness. It’s a neurological hiccup that makes organizing, starting, or completing tasks feel impossible, even when you desperately want to. Writers, creatives, and anyone with a busy brain experience it differently, but the result is the same: mental friction, frustration, anger and guilt. They all go hand in hand for someone that just wants an hour of focus. 

The hacks? Tiny victories. Break big tasks into micro-steps, use timers, and reward yourself for completing the smallest things. Some days, just moving laundry from the floor into a basket counts as a win. Putting the dishes in the kitchen and out of whatever weird spot you found them, also a major ass win. Because in the world of the writer's brain, progress is progress. No matter the size, forward motion leads to more forward motion. 

So, tell me: how does executive dysfunction show up in your life? And what little hacks do you use to survive it? Let’s swap tricks and reward systems. After all, we’re all over here just juggling chainsaws pretending like it's normal.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

This Scene Was Brought to You by Panic and Exhaustion

This statement couldn’t be more absolutely true in this moment. One because, for most of us, we all have that one scene we wrote under that influx of adrenaline that broke the story line wide open. We had no idea where the hell it was going, until that one character either opened their mouth or did something so off the damn wall, that we are like “shit can’t go back now”. The second reason this is more than likely true might be because it’s 1:35am with a Gremlin running loose that should have been passed out hours ago, while I’m running on my last damn nerve.

One night… Just one damn night, I would like to go to bed at a decent hour and get the proper amount of sleep to function. One day to wake up and feel like I can take on the day like the bad ass I have been for so damn long. At this point, I think it would put my body into shock if I did though. Though I do wonder if we ever really come out of the toddler mindset phase as Moms. Let me explain.

We eat what’s left or take the “Mom Tax”. We sneak snacks but never actually eat a full meal, if we eat at all. We survive on caffeine, nicotine, and the ability to justify a gas station potato log over the Micky D’s drive thru. We are lucky as hell to keep the goblins alive, happy, (and for people that have more than one) from hurting each other. 

And the truly messed-up thing as writers…. Our characters are no different. You either write what you know or what you wish you have/had. Pain, passion, attitude, and even a bit of snark is poured into each character as a foundation we pray won't crack. Well unless it furthers the damn plot or gives them some deeply rooted character development. 

Personally, as the vessel these stories pour out of, I’m a little sick and tired of all this damn character development. Like, I’m good for the next 20 damn years on that one. After all, my life is stranger than fiction and most don’t believe half the damn shit I’ve either seen, survived, or accomplished. But here I am as living damn proof, you can rage against the machine, doesn’t mean you're not going to feel the pain from it later in life. Believe me on that one. 

But anywho… Back on topic… Panic can sometimes be a great motivator when it comes to personal or literary scenes. Depending on what type of person or character you’re writing, they could be thinking clearer, making decisions based on logic, or they could be running around like their hairs on fire and their asses are catching. See everyone thinks of panic, goes into the fear side of it, and runs off the rails. 

That’s not always the way I play out panic. I have one story that I’m currently writing (Female Bronc Rider meets Mafia) which has her saddle being tampered with right before the biggest ride of her life. She knows someone is fucking with her, but doesn’t know who, and unfortunately, can’t prove anything other than the straps have been cut. Panic sets in but she uses that as fuel to keep her fired up. 

It's the same way with how a lot of people handle stressful situations. Some can’t. The fear and anxiety shut them down hard. Other’s, well lets just say, we are pros at the pivot. The “well fuck” situations that has us scrambling to pull rabbits out of our asses, has become our norm when it should have never been that way. But here we are. 

So, the next time you have a character go rogue, or completely off the damn deep end, remember shit happens. We can barely control the ones we made that are walking around over the ones that live rent free in our heads. Sometimes you have to see how far each one is willing to go. It does make for entertaining shit to have to cut out later if it makes no sense in a day or three. 

For those of you that have hung on this long, thank you. I know this probably doesn’t make much sense but if you know you know. Kids like characters are unpredictable. Like the one that is still running around the living room like it's a damn mash pit. I don’t care how tired he is, come 6:50am his butt will be on that bus. He made a choice to stay up and he’ll have to deal with the aftermath of that choice. Not quite as dramatic as the Last Ride on War Cry, but you understand. 

Panic, for me right now, is the fact I’m running out of gas, and until my husband walks through that door in hopefully 20 minutes, I have to keep the Gremlin from pulling a vanishing act. Yes, he has done that a time or dozen. Never when it's dark… So, I guess I have an advantage there right now. Pray for my salinity, send supplies, and good humor memes. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

The Muse Has ADHD (So Do I)

Good afternoon everyone. I hope everyone’s weekend was amazing. Mine, well lets just say the title of this post says it all. I have been bouncing around trying to get the house back in order while also working on about 6 different stories. And I’ll admit I had a false sense of “once school started back” things would be different. Alas, they are not.

Let me break it down for you. Hubby hasn’t been working weekends. Which sounds awesome right? Wrong. With him being home and supposed to be helping, it's a never ending battle of getting him to do much more than watch anime. And when he does do something it's the direct opposite of what I asked. For example: I’m going into the office to get some work done, please keep an eye out for the Gremlin. 5 minutes later…. Gremlin appears at my side to request his movie changes, drink, food or something has malfunctioned. 

Now he had to walk past his father to get to my office. And when I follow him out. Hubby is face deep in his tablet or phone. I walk past making the passive aggressive remarks but again I’m still doing the task. This goes on all weekend. Now if this is the norm around my house, why am I so pissed, you might be asking yourself. Because I forwent an entire weekend of laundry because he said he’d fix the laundry room floor. NEWS FLASH: It's not fixed and I wasted two full days of not being able to do laundry. So, awesome sauce.

Then you go into the characters that scream at me on the daily. No one ever wants to wait their turn, and I’m scribbling lines down like a cipher to some underground treasure. All while trying to battle a 9 year old, and his 54 year old counterpart. Safe to say my salinity is on the brink of throwing their hands in the air as my husband's alarm screeches in the background. 

I have bounced between all 6 stories this weekend trying to find just the right place for some of these writing prompts to go without them being forced. I have scenes playing in my head but have no idea if this is something new or if it's something that I've already started. So I have one document that literally has tab after tab of just the things that I can see or remember going off in my head, in hopes that it will make sense somewhere. 

Couple all this with the Gremlin’s war on and off on sleep, a house that looks like it's been robbed, and two cats that have no idea that my mouse is not a play toy. Welcome to Monday. 

For most of us that would love to scream and throw hands right now, it's just another day that I’m having to learn not to take too damn seriously. That shit happens not always for the good but we deal with it. Because right now we are the only semi functioning adults to do so. So, drink the coffee, breathe and remember when the mess is gone, the house is quiet, and there is no more “MOM”, we will cry how much we miss it. 

It’s not great in the moment, but it’s where we are. I know that, and you should too. So dust off that notebook and put at the very least a hundred words on the paper. Even if it is on your grocery list. It all fucking counts right now. And keep moving forward. That’s what we have to do. 

Now I have about 10 minutes before the bus pulls up. I’ll talk to you all later. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

First Day of School: Feels More Like a War Zone at Home

We made it y’all. We made it to the first day of school, like damn troops battling through high waisted grass praying we didn’t get bit by a damn snake. Especially since the last few days leading up to today have been a bit nuts. Doctor’s appointments, registration, back-to-school shopping, and let's not forget trying to tame the mess we all have been battling uphill since Summer Break started. 

And honestly, I’m a little shocked by the Gremlin’s behavior today. Not because he went to bed on time, or got up on time. Not because he didn’t fight his father over the clothes, shoes, or having to wear socks. Not even because he ate his breakfast, took his meds, and walked out the door and waited patiently for the bus, which he walked on like it was nothing. But because the contrast from last year to this year is like night and flipping day. To him, it was a normal Wednesday. For me, on the other hand, it's the break that I have been waiting for for the last six weeks. 

It’s the chance to get the house back in running order, without having to worry about it being messed up in 30 minutes. It's a chance to deep clean his room without begging for someone to keep him entertained to do so. It's actually folding and putting away laundry instead of living out of clothes baskets because I was doing a hundred things at once. And while having a clean and organized space, should bring me a sense of accomplishment. All I can think about is how is his day going?

Five years of first days, and I still feel the same way I did when he went to Kindergarten. At least this for the last few years, I get to see him get on the bus. I’m a phone call away if shit goes sideways. I’m not stuck on a production line anxiety riddled while he is doing this. I got to get the kiss goodbye, while telling him to have a good day. That’s the joy and sacrifice playing out in real time. 

Joy because I’m right here, 12 minutes from the school keys in hand. I get to be a part of all the special moments: class parties, field trips, and school assemblies. I also get to follow my passion, which I turned into a carree. I get to write and answer emails from fellow authors and fans, while also doing laundry, dishes and taking care of the house. I also get to see his little face when he walks off the bus in the afternoons, without having to rush home covered in god knows what from work. Some would say I’m lucky. 

But here is what I sacrificed to be here. 

Free time, because let’s face it, that doesn’t fucking exist. I’m either working on the house, yard, keeping bills paid, and/or the little Gremlin alive. When I’m not doing that, I’m sitting at my desk in my office trying to bang out at least 2500 to 3k works in a few uninterrupted hours. And even once the house is quiet because of naps, or bed. I’m prepping everything for either the next day, or staring off into space because I have forgotten what I was doing. Then going to sleep to do it all again the next day.

A full time 2nd paycheck. While I make royalties from my books, if they don’t sell well that month, we don’t have the extra money. As a family of three (plus two cats and a dog), we live paycheck to paycheck. And I have successfully kept our heads above water, while also keeping the car in the driveway on the road. It isn’t easy by a long shot. Having a job outside the house is also a blessing and curse. At least you have other semi humans to talk to. I have to wait for all my friends to come home from work to have an adult conversation. Otherwise, It’s just me and the washing machine or YouTube.

Work life balance is a fun one that I have thrown out the damn window. Let’s face facts. Like real down in the mud facts here. Once my feet hit the floor, Red Bull in hand, Cigarette hanging from my lips, and hair thrown up in whatever will keep it off my neck for the next few hours, IT’S GO TIME. It’s opening curtains and surveying damage of a tantrum I was too exhausted to deal with the night before. It’s praying I don’t have to wash the load of laundry for the third time because new flash: I got side tracked. It’s making sure hubby has clothes for work and Gremlin stays in clothes instead of streaking through the house. 

It’s booting up my computer to check a to-do list, project management (which lately is me just sitting here for 10 minutes narrating how I should be doing more.) Then staring out the window looking at all the things I need to do in my own yard… Like cutting it. Breath deep and power through, while managing two other humans lives. Most days that's before the caffeine has told me it's safe to function. 

Being a Stay at Home Parent is the best, most thankless job, we do. Some of us choose this, others, like me, got thrown into it so hard, we now have trauma and whiplash. We don’t have friends. We have battle buddies that see us at our worst and best. At this point, other than the work trip to Green Bay, I haven’t been able to just sit down and socialize. While yes, we do socialize on Saturday nights over on Twitch. We are all there because of one main reason, to make Izzy laugh until she turns purple. (Kidding Izzy… there is crying too)

Most, if not all my friends, live states away. The ones that are close to my area, they have their own lives, and shit to deal with. I respect that. After all, I’m in the same damn river paddling up stream with the rest. But the main point is, the load gets too much to carry. And while yes, I wouldn’t have it any other way right now, doesn’t mean I can’t want things to be a little different. That I shouldn’t want the other half to pull his damn weight inside the house, as he does when he escapes the house. 

So tomorrow, I’m declaring a mental health day/ reward for surviving the summer. I am taking the time out of my day to go get my hair done. Why? Because It makes ME feel human. I’m not just a mom, wife, writer, author, and bestie to a group of amazing peps. I’m also a woman that needs to feel human and not like a damn servant. This is my line in the sand. What’s yours?

If you're out there doing the most with the least this one's for you. Keep swinging, keep showing up. And for the love of your sanity, take your damn mental health day. You’ve earned it. Alright on that note, I have to go see if the washer is off balance again or if it's actually spun out this time. Have an amazing day, and if shit gets rough remember bail isn’t cheap. We will get through all of this one step at a time. You're not a failure if you stumble, and sometimes you need that shinny to get through the day. 

Be Brave, Be Bold But Always Stay Humble.