Sleep Deprivation and Storytelling: The Ugly Truth

    Buckle up buttercup, this is gunna be a long one.

    There’s this romanticized idea that writers thrive on chaos. You’ve seen it in movies, in memes, in the way people joke about surviving on nothing but caffeine, nicotine, cold pizza, and “the muse”, that has jokes. We laugh at all the misconceptions of what a writer/ author physically looks like. Why? Because it's funny, and unfortunately, there is a small or large grain of truth to it. But there’s a darker side to it that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough. Sleep deprivation isn’t just some quirky “writer's life” tag line. It’s brutal. It’s ugly. And sometimes, it’s dangerous.

I’m not talking about the occasional late night where you’re in the zone and lose track of time. Or when you wake in the middle of the night needing to write something down, before you lose it. Then BAM, it's 6:15am and it’s time to get the kids up and ready for school. 

 I’m talking about days on end of being barely able to function because your brain refuses to shut down. Life, kicking you in ass after said late night, and now, you don’t get the chance to rest because you have other shit that needs your attention. 

For me, it’s usually a mix of both. Parenting, deadlines, and emotional overload collide until I’m staring at the ceiling at 3am, counting down the hours until I have to get up and do it all over again. A tightness in my chest is growing, because I think I’m letting everyone down. Then my mind shifts so hard into fifth gear you’d swear you heard the gears grind.

And let me tell you, writing through that kind of fog isn’t glamorous. It’s a war. War with fictional characters that scream loud enough to crack pains of glass. War with the setting because if I do it this way or that way it might not be believable. War with myself over the imposter syndrome, that seems to creep in just as shits going down. 

When I sit down at the keyboard after three hours of broken sleep, the words come out differently. Sometimes they flow too fast, like a dam cracked open and everything I’ve been holding back pours onto the page, unfiltered and raw. Other times, it’s like pulling teeth without novocaine. Slow, Painful, and Jagged while you're screaming and crying. 

The strange thing about writing while sleep-deprived is that the voice in your head doesn’t shut up, but your ability to catch it and shape it into something coherent falters. You end up with pieces of brilliance tangled in nonsense. Whole paragraphs where you go back the next day and think: Wow. That’s either the most honest thing I’ve ever written or complete garbage. Possibly both.

That’s the ugly truth: sleep deprivation doesn’t just affect your body; it twists your storytelling. And sometimes, the work you produce in those dark hours can’t be replicated in the light of day. Which becomes frustrating, if you finally found the voice for that one damn character that doesn’t seem to sound right at any other time.  

Now, let's talk about how the human husk starts keeping score.

Sleep deprivation doesn’t just make you cranky. It wrecks your body. The headaches, the short fuse, the endless coffee jitters that do nothing but dig you into a deeper hole. All of it adds up. And as much as I love being “the strong one,” I’ve had to learn (the hard way) that my body always cashes the checks my sleepless nights write. Which constantly leaves me owing spoons and/or fucks to give.

For me, it’s the shakes in my hands when I type too long. The pain in my wrists that seem to go up my arm from trying to keep my hands on home row. The crash that hits out of nowhere when I finally sit down after a day of sprinting from one task to the next. My patience with the people I love wears razor thin, and that guilt lingers far longer than the exhaustion itself. Sleep deprivation makes me feel like I’m failing twice. Once in the moment, and again when I see the fallout.

Storytelling on Empty isn’t something we talk about but we have all experienced it one way or another.

Here’s the catch: sleep deprivation doesn’t stop me from doing my job as a writer or parent. In fact, sometimes it fuels it. The ugly truth is that some of my rawest, most gut-punching scenes have come from nights when I was too tired to put up my usual walls. Exhaustion strips away the polish. It drags your subconscious into the spotlight and says: Okay, you’re too tired to censor this. Let’s go. 

That’s when characters reveal truths I wasn’t planning on. That’s when villains start sounding like people I know in real life. That’s when the plot twists cut a little deeper because they’re born from a place I wouldn’t touch if I had my full defenses up. But there’s a cost.

Every time I write on empty, I’m borrowing against tomorrow and all the other tomorrows. And eventually, tomorrow shows up wanting interest, a formal apology, and dinner. 

The Balance I Haven’t Mastered, so don’t feel bad if you haven’t either. After all, we are being honest here. 

I wish I could wrap this post up with some tidy advice like: Go to bed earlier! or Make sleep part of your self-care routine! But that wouldn’t be honest. The truth is, I haven’t mastered this balance. I probably never will as long as my “Office” is less than 10 steps from my bed. Because in my life there is no work like balance, there is only “Get up and do the damn thing” no matter what the “damn thing” happens to be. 

I write because I want and need to. I parent because I love my Gremlin more than anything. I push through the exhaustion because life doesn’t stop just because I’m tired, or had a bad day. And if I wait for the “perfect” rested moment to write, I might never write at all. Let’s face facts “perfection” is highly over rated. The mess and chaos are what make life worth living, when your body is screaming “you’ve lost your damn mind”.

So, I make peace with the ugly truth: some nights will bleed into mornings, and some mornings will start with Red Bull in hand, a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, and a messy bun from the day before instead of the put together MOM. My words will sometimes come out jagged, sometimes brilliant, sometimes both. That’s part of the deal I’ve struck with myself as both a writer and a human being surviving not only on but also with the chaos.

Why Do I Keep Going?

At the end of the day (or night), the stories matter. My son matters. My survival matters. And if the cost of telling the truth — in my life, in my fiction, in my blog posts — is a few more sleepless nights, then I’ll pay it. Because when push comes to shove, I know I have a gift. I have the ability to make others see, feel and experience something. And what kind of person would I be if I kept that to myself. Selfish that’s what I’d be.

But I’ll also admit, here in the raw light of honesty, that I’m tired. I’m bone-deep tired. And I know some of you reading this are too.

So maybe the only real advice I can offer is this: give yourself grace. If you’re writing through exhaustion, if you’re stumbling through the day, if you’re holding it all together with caffeine and stubbornness, and the will to not end up on an episode of SNAPPED, you’re not alone. The stories will come. They always do. The house will eventually get cleaned. It always does. The kids will be fed. Even in the ugly truth of sleep deprivation, everything finds a way.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s where the most real storytelling happens. Drop some comments about your struggle bus moments.

REMEMBER:

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

Plot Holes So Big You Could Drive a Truck Through Them (and how you patch them).

Happy Tuesday everyone, and welcome to another installment of Plot Holes & Panic Buttons. Today, we are diving headfirst into the one thing we as writers never want to deal with. The dreaded plot hole… *que dramatic music* Honestly, it isn’t that we don’t want to deal with it, it's just not something we like to acknowledge.  

Writers don’t always like to admit it, but sometimes the story we’re pouring our soul into springs a leak the size of the Grand Canyon. We might not notice it right away but when a character magically knows something they shouldn’t, when time lines don't add up, when an impossible detail slips before it’s time, or when a reader raises their hand and says: “Wait a second… how did they get from point A to point B?” or “According to the established magic system they should have known this was their mate already.”

Plot holes are the bane of a storyteller’s existence, but it is also what teaches us to slow down and look closer. Because let’s face facts, some of us write so fast we don’t see the cracks right away. Sometimes someone has to point it out to us. And by the time we see it; it’s big enough to drive an 18-wheeler through it with room on either side.

They creep in while we’re distracted with getting the draft done as fast as humanly possible, pantsing with wild ambition, and yes, even meticulously outlining. They aren’t always mistakes born of laziness. Sometimes they’re just the natural side effect of creating complex worlds and flawed human characters. But the truth is, once a reader falls into a hole, it’s hard to climb back out. And it's the only damn thing they concentrate on, which pulls them out of the rich world and complex characters we have created. 

I know this all too well, as I am guilty of it. Details I don’t think are that important happen to be the only ones people get hung up on. Having to go back and explain each time, becomes a headache and a half which runs you in circles.

So, how do we fix them, you might be asking? Without ripping the entire manuscript apart, causing a mental breakdown, or letting imposter syndrome take center stage. Let’s talk about patches. 

1. Spotting the Sinkholes Early

The first step is being honest about where your story feels like it’s soft or as I like to say squishy. If someone stepped on it would they fall through or would it hold their weight. For my crime show people: If you had to defend that scene in court, could you? Would your characters’ decisions hold up under cross-examination, is your evidence strong enough or would the jury laugh you out of the room?

Most of the time, I overly fixate on these problems once I see them. If you ask any of my friends, they will tell you I can’t move on from this problem, because for me, I now have to remember what was supposed to go there. Or why it’s not being understood when I said it in plain Penguin.  

Izzy, especially, has to break it down with a series of questions to get me to see the bigger picture and remind me not everyone is a gearhead. Not everyone grew up around classic cars and bikes. Which apparently is one of my trademarks, strong ass females and some sort of classic. Izzy also loves to call me out every gap my subconscious forgot to fill in on the page.

Okay, You have found the issues but now how do you fix them, without pulling your hair out. On to Step 2.

2. The Patchwork Quilt Method

Not every hole needs a total rewrite. Sometimes it just needs a subtle tweak. All it takes is a line or two of dialogue, adjusting the narration a smidgy bit to sew the edges together. Think of this process more like saving your favorite pair of jeans. 

Continuity errors? Drop in a sentence that clarifies timing or geography. 

Knowledge gaps? Let a character overhear, research, or be told what they “shouldn’t” know. 

Unlikely behavior? Add a moment of hesitation, frustration, or justification that shows why the character still went that route. Sometimes just alluding to danger can fix it right up.

Think of it like spackling a wall; you don’t have to rebuild the whole house to cover a crack. You're just throwing a patch and some mud and calling it a damn day. Because sometimes it’s just that damn serious, unless you let it get that way.

3. Lean Into It

Here’s a sneaky trick: sometimes the best fix is to make the hole intentional. If something feels implausible, what if your characters notice too? A “why would you do that?” moment lampshades the issue and gives you time to reveal the reasoning later. (Make sure there is going to be a reason later though. No need to do this if you're not going to do it right.)

Readers forgive a lot if they trust that you know what’s going on, even if they don’t. Suspense thrives on withheld answers. But in the same flip of the coin, you can lose all kinds of readers if they don’t get their answers.

4. The Hard Truth: Rewrite When You Must

Of course, not every hole is patchable with duct tape and a prayer. Sometimes you discover that an entire subplot, timeline, or motivation is built on sand. That’s when you have to be brave enough to bulldoze and rebuild. I like to call it salvage what you can and burn the rest. 

Yes, it hurts. Yes, it will make you cry. But remember: no reader ever said, “I wish the author had left that gaping contradiction in there.”

5. Futureproofing Your Story

To avoid holes before they start, keep a “story bible” or continuity doc. Track timelines, ages, relationships, and rules of your world. You don’t have to be obsessive, but jotting down those details saves you from having your hero’s eye color change three times or accidentally breaking the laws of your own magic system. Or in my case, renaming three characters four times. And never remember who is who.

Thankfully with 4 Queens for 4 Kings Series, Izzy has the all holy bible. I am not trusted in the amount of Chaos I write in.

At the End of the Day… Plot holes don’t make you a bad writer. They make you a human writer. Every single book you love once had early drafts with cracks big enough to swallow semis. The only difference is, those authors patched them before you ever saw the pages.

So when you find yourself staring at one of those yawning chasms in your own work, don’t panic. Grab your toolbox/ sewing kit. Spackle, Lampshade, or full demolition crew and get to work. This is going to make you a better writer if you let it. You are differently going to learn a lot about how your brain works. And maybe next time you won't have to pay the demo crew overtime. 

Your readers will never know how many trucks you had to haul out of there. They’ll just remember the smooth road you left behind. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

The Soundtrack to My Writing Process — songs that fuel your scenes.

You ever get a song stuck in your head and are like, “What does this even mean?”, “Why is it here?” Or my personal favorite… “What is my muse or character trying to tell me?” Because as random as we would like to think it is, it isn’t. Some writers need outside stimulation to spark inspiration. Some, like myself, rely on music, movies, or even art. 

For example:

My Double-Edged Series is completely based on Nickelback songs. Crossroads is Far Away. The Demon You Made is Lullaby. Ain’t No Cinderella is a mix of Shaking Hands and Something In Your Mouth. With the series rounding out with the last two songs of Photograph and Someday. As of right now, it’ll be five stand alones with floating characters between books.

Now the 4 Queens for 4 Kings Series along with the Destined Chronicles, that’s a different mix all together. I start out with 5 Finger Death Punch and could easily move to Ozzy, Brantley Gilbert, Nickelback, or even Kid Rock, all depending on the scene along with emotions I’m trying to invoke. 

What I am getting at here, is that music is powerful on its own. We all have that one song that we can either listen to amp up or make us bawl our eyes out. It brings us back to a time and place with people that we no longer see. It can invoke such strong emotion that we can feel ten feet tall and bullet proof. 

Some writers can’t listen to music with the lyrics when they are actively putting words on the paper. Others listen, then make everything as quiet as possible to see the words fly from their fingertips. While one set of writers like classical music, another loves metal, country, or even R&B. Music, in whatever genre, is as unique as the words writers put on the page. 

Writing has the same unique classifications. And no two writers, even when given the same prompt, have the same story. Like the way you can give the same lyrics to three different bands/singers and you will get three different songs. It’s never wrong, just different.

So, let me leave you with this. While your process might look strange to others, it's not wrong, it's you. It doesn’t matter how you get the words on the damn page only that you do. Because someone out there wants to hear your unique voice and that of your characters. Writing is as fluid as music, with rises and falls just like the tempo to a song. So find your tempo, find your beat, and make a masterpiece. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

The Things My Kids Teach Me About Resilience

I’ve learned more about resilience from my child than from any self-help book, podcast, or motivational speaker. Honestly, half the time I think I’m the one teaching him how to handle the world, when in reality he’s teaching me.

Kids bounce back in ways adults forget how to. They fall down, they get up. They have meltdowns, then five minutes later they’re asking for a snack like nothing happened. They don’t carry grudges the way we do. They don’t spend hours replaying a mistake until it eats them alive. They just…move forward.

Watching my son face challenges, especially the ones that feel unfair, the ones that most adults would crumble under, reminds me of what real strength looks like. He doesn’t stop showing up just because it’s hard. He doesn’t stop smiling, laughing, or being himself. He adapts. He finds new ways to make it through. Especially, since he doesn’t see the world like we see the world. 

And every time I think I can’t handle one more thing, I remember: there are two little eyes watching what I do, so he knows what to do. If I’m angry, he’s angry. If I’m okay, he’s okay. Kids feed off of us the same way a lot of us learned to read a room before we learned to read a book. 

Resilience isn’t about never breaking. It’s about breaking and then piecing yourself back together anyway. It’s about finding joy in the middle of the mess. It’s about having the courage to try again even when yesterday knocked you flat on your ass. It’s also remembering the reward of fighting through when it looks like shit isn’t ever going to change.

My kid reminds me of that every single day. He shows me that it’s okay to be scared, frustrated, or exhausted, and it’s also okay to keep going anyway.

So when I feel like giving up, I think about him. The way he faces every obstacle head-on, even the invisible ones. The way he refuses to let struggle define him. The way he keeps moving forward with a strength that humbles me. Because if he can do it, then so can I.

Weekly Reflection: Finding Strength in Chaos

This week has been a whirlwind both in life and on the page. From turning real-life chaos into fictional drama, to trying to wrestle characters into the stories I thought I wanted to tell, to learning how to step back and give myself a break, and finally, to seeing resilience in the smallest lessons from my kid. I’ve been reminded of one constant: strength often shows up in the mess.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when the world doesn’t slow down. It’s easy to feel guilty for taking a moment for yourself. It’s easy to feel like you’re losing control. But if there’s one thing this week has taught me, it’s that chaos doesn’t have to break you. It can teach you, fuel you, and even inspire you.

Through the mess, through the frustration, through the exhaustion, I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, adapting, and finding joy and purpose even when the storm is raging. My stories, my characters, and my little Chaos Gremlin remind me of this every day. And as I close this week, I carry that lesson forward: I can navigate the chaos, write the wounds, and still find the beauty in it all. Because when push comes to shove, things are going to happen whether you’re ready or not.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

Writing the Wounds I Don’t Talk About Out Loud

Some wounds never really close. People like to say “time heals,” but I don’t buy it. Time just teaches you how to carry the weight differently. Some days it’s lighter. Some days it drags you down so far you wonder if you’ll ever stand straight again. And more often than not it's the anchor around your feet pulling you into the deep, never to return to the surface. 

I don’t always talk about those wounds out loud. Some of them are too messy, too complicated, too full of jagged edges that other people don’t want to see. But I do write them.

When I write, I let the cracks show. I let the anger and grief and heartbreak slip through the words. I let my characters say the things I can’t. I let them break down in ways I’m too tired or too stubborn to. I let them rage against the unfairness that I’ve learned to just…live with.

It doesn’t make the pain disappear, but it transforms it. On the page, it’s not just mine anymore. It’s part of a story. It’s a piece of something bigger. And sometimes, that’s the only way I can survive it—by turning it into something that doesn’t just sit in the dark corners of my chest.

The truth is, writing the wounds I don’t say out loud is scary. It means admitting the pain is real. It means facing things I’d rather keep buried. But every time I do, I feel lighter. Not because the wounds are healed, but because they’re acknowledged. They’re seen.

And maybe that’s why readers connect with these kinds of stories so fiercely. We all carry wounds we don’t talk about. We all have those shadows that creep in at night or sit quietly behind our smiles. When I write mine, I’m not just bleeding onto the page—I’m holding out a hand and saying, “Me too.”

So no, time doesn’t heal all wounds. But writing? Writing gives me a way to keep walking with them. To give them meaning instead of just pain. To let them live in the light, even when I can’t bring myself to speak to them out loud.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

The Guilt of Taking a Break (and Why I’m Learning Not To)

Here’s something I don’t talk about enough: the guilt. We do here, but not out in public. And why is that?

Every time I sit down and don’t write, or clean, or work, that voice creeps in. The one that says I’m wasting time. That I should be doing more. That I’m lazy. Rest feels like weakness. Silence feels like failure.

And yet, burnout doesn’t make me productive. It makes me useless. When I push myself past the breaking point, my words dry up, my patience withers, and I’m not good for anyone, especially not my son, who deserves a mom who has something left to give not a short fuse. 

I’m learning (slowly, stubbornly) that taking a break isn’t selfish. It’s survival. Those moments of rest, whether it’s a nap, a walk, or even just sitting in silence, refill the well. They give me the strength to keep going when life demands more than I think I have.

The truth is, my guilt is rooted in fear. Fear of falling behind. Fear of not being enough. Fear that if I stop, even for a moment, everything will collapse around me. But the more I fight that fear with actual rest, the more I realize the opposite is true. The breaks don’t make me weaker. They keep me in the game.

So today, if you’re reading this and feeling that same guilt, let me say it plain: rest isn’t lazy. Breaks aren’t wasted time. They’re what keep us from burning all the way out.

And survival? Survival is enough.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Why My Characters Keep Doing Things I Didn’t Plan

I love a good outline, said no panster ever. What we love is a good idea and half baked plan. Nothing concrete because we know about half way through writing things will be derailed. Now, I can spend hours planning scenes, charting arcs, and convincing myself I have it all figured out. But when I sit down to actually write, my characters laugh in my face, and proceed to ask, “who is going to tell her?”

They don’t follow orders. Hell, I don’t follow orders. They wander off, while I’m looking for that one scene I wrote that would be perfect for them. They fall for the wrong people, they pick fights when I wanted/ needed them to stay quiet, they charge headfirst into danger when I begged them to keep their asses safe. 

It’s frustrating, sure. But I’ve realized something: my characters are alive in a way my outlines never will be. When they surprise me, I know they’re finally breathing on the page, spilling their own feelings and emotions out. It’s like when you have a newborn child. Except, you're actively trying to keep them from unaliving others instead of themselves.

Think about it. If I’m shocked at the choices they make, then my readers will be too. The twists will feel natural, not forced, because they’re born out of character, not plot mechanics. And isn’t that what we want as writers? Characters so fully formed that they push back, demand their own space, and refuse to play nice?

Honestly, it’s not all that different from real life. I can plan my days down to the hour, but something always goes sideways. A sick kid, a late bill, a curveball out of nowhere. People don’t always do what we expect, and neither do characters. Even when it looks like they are going to behave for ten damn minutes, boom there are Dequilla shots, tattoos, and promises that are only made between lovers in the dark. 

So maybe the lesson is this: control is overrated. I can outline all I want, but at some point, I have to loosen my grip and let the story breathe. My characters may frustrate me, but at least they keep me honest. And it’s still funny as hell when the comic relief steps in to “play” like he doesn’t know what is going on but he has eyes.

What is your “why the hell did they do that” story? Share below.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.

How I Turn Real-Life Chaos Into Fictional Drama

Chaos seems to follow me around like it knows my name, habits, and schedule. Maybe it’s the universe testing me, maybe it’s just life being life, but one thing I’ve learned is this: chaos doesn’t just wreck my days, it also fuels my writing. It's the one constant that, unfortunately, I have come to rely on. 

The bills pile up, the car breaks down, my son gets sick, my husband checks out when I need him the most, and instead of falling apart (okay, sometimes after I fall apart, but very few people get to see that), I put it on the page. Because here’s the truth: all that raw, jagged chaos makes for some damn good fiction. Because no one would believe that it was once reality.

That betrayal you read in my mafia stories? That comes from real-life betrayals, the ones that still sting when I think about them. But this is the only way I can process all the shit without ending up as the next story on SNAPPED. 

That exhaustion pouring out of a character’s inner monologue? Yeah, that’s me at midnight folding laundry after a day that chewed me up, and everyone complaining they don’t have clothes or socks for the next day.

That moment when a character finally snaps and says the thing they’ve been holding in for years? That’s pulled straight from my own throat, the words I sometimes don’t get to say out loud, because no one would believe me. After all, I don’t fit within the narrative.

When people ask me how I make my stories feel so real, the answer is simple: because they are. Maybe not in every detail, but in spirit. Real fights, real fears, real frustrations. Writing doesn’t erase what I’ve lived through; it transforms it. It allows me to scream, cry, and beg for something or anything else to happen, even when reality can’t change.

And maybe that’s the magic of writing through chaos. In my life, I’m constantly reminded of how little control I have. But in my stories? I get to decide what happens. I get to pick who wins and who loses. I get to take the ugly, unfixable moments and turn them into something that matters. Well as long as my characters don’t go off on their own tirades. 

So, when the universe throws me a storm, I don’t always see it as punishment anymore, not really. Sometimes, I see it as research. I see it as an opportunity to do better. Regardless of how bad shit can be, it’s we who have control if we just take the damn bull by the horns. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble