Progress Without Deadlines

Hey hey. How is everyone doing today? Me… Well, I’m hanging in there as always. It will be an off the wall week around here. Gremlin is on spring break, which means I’m going to be in a constant state of WTF. 

See even on good days, Gremlin doesn’t stop, and on bad days it's much and I do mean much worse. Think of a toddler that can’t make up their mind and amp it up to 10x the legal limit of sass and uncontrollable anger. Then add in the fact he’s nonverbal, and damn near the same size as me at the age of 10. I’m sure he will be looking me straight into the eyes by the time he’s 12. 

What does this mean for my week? Well…. It means I sit for no longer than 45 minutes if I’m lucky. If he gets quiet for more than 10, I need to go look and see where he is. And once the husband goes to work my whole area gets moved to a place with a line of sight not just hearing him. Why? Because my gremlin likes to take it upon himself to walk out the front door without me knowing about it. And while he hasn’t pulled the Houdini act in the last year and a half, he did two weeks ago. 

This is what makes my situation fortunate and want to pull my hair out. See because I don’t have a regular 9-5, I can be here for all the breaks, sickness, and odd ball shit that gets thrown my way. I am also the one that changes the move every 5 minutes because he only wants to watch the first 10ish minutes of something. I am the one that deals with the up-downs and running to the other side of the house. 

Which means I get little to no work done when he’s home, and what I do get done gets interrupted at the very least 100s of times. This is the ugly part: there is no separation between home and work because for me it's the same damn place. 

My office is invaded once every 15ish minutes by either the Gremlin or by the other damn adult. There is no “Please for the love of God leave my ass alone.”, “Do you see I’m Fucking doing something.”, or my personal favorite “You are the other adult figure it the fuck out.” Naw Naw… I am the mom, wife, and author. 

As an indie author, there’s something both freeing and uncomfortable about working without a deadline. There is no countdown, no pressure clock ticking in the background, no external voice reminding you that time is almost up. Everything that applies/ed pressure is non-existent. And at first, it feels like relief that no one is telling you what to do.

But then something else creeps into the back of your mind like a demon sitting on your shoulder. Without a deadline, it’s easy to question whether progress is even happening. There’s no clear marker for success. No finish line to sprint toward. Just you, the work, and an open stretch of time that can either feel expansive… or endless. It’s also what allows that good old imposter syndrome to poke its ugly ass head out of the box like a sadistic children's toy.

Progress without deadlines requires a different kind of trust and motivation. It asks you to show up without urgency. To create without the adrenaline of last-minute pressure. To keep going even when no one is waiting on the outcome but you. And that can be harder than working under pressure. Because the only one you have left to impress is you.

Deadlines force movement. They create structure, even if it’s stressful. Without them, you have to build your own rhythm. Your own accountability. Your own reason to keep going when motivation dips. But there’s also something powerful here.

Without a deadline, the work has room to breathe. Ideas can develop more naturally. You can take the time to explore, adjust, and refine without feeling rushed. The process becomes less about racing to the finish and more about building something that actually feels right.

Progress shifts from being measured by speed to being measured by consistency. With the questions rolling through your head: Did you show up today? Did you move something forward, even a little? That’s how you get to measure your progress now.

It might be slower. It might be quieter. It might not look impressive from the outside. But it’s often more sustainable—and sometimes more meaningful—than anything built under constant pressure. Unless you need that kind of pressure. Then you can come hang out with me and my group on Saturday Nights on the Hold My Pen Promptcast…. We will keep you honest with yourself.

I say all that to say this: working without deadlines doesn’t mean the work doesn’t matter. It means the timeline is yours. Freedom can be intimidating, but it can also be exactly what allows something real to take shape. Its also that moment to allow your characters to scream into the void in which you are hearing. 

How do you stay consistent when there’s no deadline pushing you forward? What helps you recognize progress when it’s slow, quiet, and completely on your own terms?

Be Brave, Be Bold But ALWAYS Stay Humble

Finding My Rhythm Again (Slowly)

Good Morning Peps. How was everyone’s weekend? Mine was a little chaos mixed with a whole lot of realization. See between the show (The Hold My Pen Promptcast), writing (46 WIPs), and the general day to day that revolves around my home and family (chosen or otherwise), I am in a constant state of WTF now. Some say I’m doing too much, others don’t understand that I am basically a one woman wrecking crew that has run out of gas and fucks to give at the moment. 

Last week, I played catch up in zombie mode. Which sent me into a tail spin of shit not getting done. House still looks like a group of chaos gremlins had a party, laundry is multiplying faster than rabbits, and the intrusive thoughts that keep everyone second guessing, decided to have a party in my head. Which again has caused me to spiral worse than any other time in my life.

See, there’s a strange feeling that comes after a long stretch of chaos, and no one talks about it. It’s when you are desperately holding on to that little shred of hope that things will go back to normal. But when normal never comes it sends, you into the worse tail spin of your life. Which makes everything 10x worse. Makes you snappy, makes you second guess paths you already set out on, and it also sends you into the feeling of why the hell am I still doing this.

When things finally start to settle, you realize your rhythm, the tried and true method that has gotten you through every day, has gone a little quiet. Two things happen with that you either breathe a little easier because things are finally lining up like they are supposed to, or you start looking for the missing puzzle piece that might not exist. The routines that once felt natural now feel slightly off. The habits you built take a little more effort to return to.

First of all breathe…. Its not like the car keys are missed place or the backpacks have suddenly grown legs. Even though it feels like that currently. This is what I like to call “paying the piper”. Because reality is nothing is gone, but its past time to rediscover what works and what doesn’t. This is the evolving period in our lives. Completely uncomfortable, and making us wish there was an easier way when alas there isn’t.

After busy seasons, stressful weeks, or stretches where life takes priority over everything else, finding your rhythm again rarely happens overnight. Hell, we are lucky as hell if we manage to lock something that works down in a month. But we beat ourselves up when things happen slower than we need it too. Which lets face facts, doesn’t help anyone most of all us.

Opening a document and writing a few sentences.  Clearing one corner of a room that had been neglected. Cleaning out the fridge to find that damn mystery smell. Or even taking on the chaos that is the gremlin’s room. All tasks that put me into potato mode instead of the way shit used to be. Which is to get it done and so I don’t have to worry about it later.  

Taking a deep breath before jumping into the next task. Giving yourself 15 minutes to just be. Or just setting the damn timer (or remembering to do so) can make a world of damn difference. You’d be surprised what you can get done in 45 minutes when you are racing against the clock. 

These little actions are the beginning of momentum. And let's face it your world didn’t just explode into this overnight. It chipped away until the results in front of you couldn’t be ignored any longer. Like I ran experiment that both proved me right and fucked me over. Now I am both vindicated and stuck fixing it. The experiment…. How much I do around this house vs the other adult. So, I stopped doing everything that was directly tied to gremlin and me. Now the house looks like hoarders live here. I am constantly doing or redoing laundry…. And the other adult… Well, he has a knack for calling me lazy.  

We often expect ourselves to bounce back immediately, as if productivity and creativity should snap back into place the moment life calms down. But that expectation can create more pressure than progress. It also lets the intrusive thoughts of us not being good enough have a say when it should never get a fucking say.

Rhythm doesn’t return through force. It returns through patience. Through repetition. Through showing up, even when the pace feels slower than it used to. Through trusting that consistency will rebuild what disruption scattered.

Some days the rhythm will feel familiar again. Other days it will still feel slightly out of sync. That’s part of the process. The important thing is that you’re moving again. You're fighting forward no matter what forward looks like. 

Which is something I have to remind myself on the damn daily. I didn’t just sit and become a potato today. I started laundry. I am fixing to pick up and clean the gremlin’s room. I am going to start working on a project even if that is just reading through it again. 

Slow is still forward. Quiet progress is still progress. And rebuilding your rhythm, no matter how gradual, means you haven’t given up on the things that matter to you. Eventually, the steps become easier. The flow returns. The work feels natural again.

But until then, there’s nothing wrong with taking it one small beat at a time.

So, when life has handed you a shit storm, what do you do to put the train back on the tracks? How do you rebuild after shit has gone sideways? Leave me a comment below and lets compare what works for others.

Writing While Things Are Still Unclear

Happy Monday Morning Peps. Its been a hell of a ride for me this weekend, and with that I figured out a lot of things not only about myself but also about the world I’m trying to create. For those that don’t know, I was at Sinful Signings in Roanoke, VA with PA Power as his PA. An event that I have personally been waitlisted for three years running. 

To say that it was eye opening would be an understatement. I have never been to let alone been a part of an event so established, let alone had so many authors, most of which I knew from my TikTok days. I got to meet so many amazing people, Taco and Uncle Copper among them. I also realized that some events try to have an appearance of more diverse table holders. 

While networking and running around, I came to the conclusion some events just aren’t for me. Not saying if they were to come to me and say, “Hey we really would like you here.” that I would turn them down. I’m just not chasing, or begging for the chance anymore. I would say its unproductive second guessing myself, when I know who I am.

See, there’s this quiet pressure that creeps into creative work, the idea that we’re supposed to understand everything before we start. That clarity should come first. That once we know exactly what we’re doing, then we’re allowed to sit down and write/ plan our futures. But shit rarely works that way. 

Most of the time, the page is where the clarity happens, not where it begins. Some days I start writing with only a feeling. A sentence that won’t leave me alone. A character whose voice keeps tapping at the back of my mind. I don’t know where the scene is going. I don’t know if it even belongs in the story yet. I just know that if I ignore it, it will keep circling until I give it somewhere to land. So I write it anyway.

Writing while things are still unclear can feel uncomfortable. It means stepping into the fog without a map. It means admitting that you don’t have all the answers yet. It’s also giving time to your work even if you just spent 72hrs peopling. But strangely enough, that’s often where the most honest work comes from. 

Because uncertainty forces curiosity. Curiosity pushes the story forward, or at least gives you something to laugh about later.

When everything is perfectly planned, sometimes the writing feels mechanical, cookie cuter even. But when things are unclear, you’re discovering the story at the same time the reader eventually will. The page becomes a place of exploration instead of execution. And sometimes the words that come out during those uncertain moments reveal something deeper than anything we could have planned.

A character says something unexpected. A scene takes a darker turn. A theme emerges that you didn’t realize you were carrying.

Suddenly the fog starts to thin. Not all at once, but enough to see the next step. That’s really all writing ever asks of us: the next step. Clarity doesn’t have to arrive before the work begins. Sometimes the work is what creates it.

So if the story feels messy right now… if the direction isn’t perfectly clear… if you’re staring at a blank page wondering whether you should wait until you understand things better. Don’t wait.

Start where you are. Write the uncertain scene. Follow the half-formed idea. Let the characters talk before you know exactly what they’re trying to say. The answers often show up halfway through the paragraph. And sometimes the best stories are the ones we only understood after we wrote them.

Have you ever started writing without knowing where the story was going? Did clarity come later, or did the uncertainty lead you somewhere unexpected?

What Keeps Me Writing When It Would Be Easier Not To

Hey Hey everyone! How’s everyone doing? Did we survive Valentine’s Day weekend without intentionally adding to the general population? Some won't know for a good four to six weeks. So, I hope the odds are forever in your favor. (Whichever favor you have chosen for you and yours.) 

Anywho… I made it through the bleak weekend with a particular Miley Cyrus song playing in my head. You all know the one. But then that had me to the point of screaming. Why because no person that is in a relationship, whether that be new or seasoned, should have to buy themselves flowers, take themselves dancing, or write their own damn names in the fucking sand. (Sorry a little salty….) 

Honestly, I feel more like Katy Perry’s Dark Horse. after all this time: “So, you wanna play with magic? Boy, you should know what you're fallin' for. Baby, do you dare to do this? 'Cause I'm comin' at you like a dark horse.” Even though now its more like… “Uh, she's a beast, I call her Karma. She'll eat your heart out like Jeffrey Dahmer. Be careful, try not to lead her on. Shorty heart is on steroids 'cause her love is so strong.”

Which is why some days, writing feels impossible. We are either the love, making matches and giving characters a “happily ever after” we didn’t actually get. OR we are the Karma in the background, ever watching for the fuck up waiting to happen, because lets be honest its going to happen. Whether that is by design or because one of our characters has run off with scissors cutting our plot to shreds… SHREDS, I tell you.

 The words become stuck just on the tips of our fingers or the edge of a thought. The brain becomes that thick eerie fog. Life always becomes too loud, exhausting, and relentless. Every part wants to close the document, turn off the screen, and pretend the story will survive without the engine that makes it go. 

And yet, I, like so many others out there, keep writing. Keep showing up and out. And most importantly coming up with the most off the wall things no one saw coming. Which is the humor behind the tragedy.

Why do I and others do this? Because stories aren’t just entertainment. For a hell of a lot of us, they’re survival. They’re therapy, confession, and reclamation. Writing is how we make sense of the chaos, process emotions, and most importantly to me, how I remember who I am in the middle of the noise and expectation that comes with being a Mom, Author, and Wife.

Sometimes it’s discipline, obsession, or just plain ass stubbornness. But always, it’s out of necessity. Because thoughts on paper are easier to deal with than thoughts just roaming around in my head like an annoying earworm. We get to play the “choose your own adventure” game every time we sit in front of our computers, notebooks, or tablets. That is both a great power and great responsibility. 

So what keeps me going on days like today, when the gremlin is home, husband can’t find a damn thing for himself, and I need just enough time to get the laundry done? Characters who demand to be heard, even when I’m already stretched to my limits. The urge to capture a fleeting thought before it disappears. The understanding that progress doesn’t require perfection. The knowledge that showing up, even imperfectly, matters.

Writing is rarely easy. It doesn’t owe us comfort. It challenges, exposes and it only asks for one damn thing. Persistence when persistence feels impossible. 

But that’s the point. The work isn’t in the perfect sentence or the flawless paragraph. It’s in the act of continuing. The act of creating when it would be easier to quit. The act of trusting that even a few words matter. It’s also in the *chefs kiss* one liner that you came up with at 1:30am instead of sleeping. 

So, I write. Even when stopping would be easier, but let's face facts: it wouldn’t be me. So many of my friends have told me to have grace with myself when I just couldn’t get the words out. Its not like they weren’t there but shit was so jumbled up it was like I hit a wall. We all know that wall. We call it writer's block, but what it actually is the equivalent of having a flat tire. Yea, you could keep going lipping that bitch down the road, but you are also going to fuck up a rim that you might not be able to replace. The rim being the hours of work that now doesn’t feel right, and now your mad at yourself for doing that. 

I’m not here to tell people to ignore burn out. I’m not here to tell you to not give yourself grace when shit is getting thicker than quicksand. I am telling you not to give up. If this is your passion, your calling, the first fucking thing you think of when you have a spare braincell to do so. Then Baby you are supposed to be doing this. 

But here is the most important question that I can’t answer for you. What keeps you moving? What keeps you showing up for your work, yourself and your characters, even when it would be easier to walk away? Where are you carrying forward effort, even when it feels invisible?

Share in the comments, or reflect privately the act itself counts.

Be Brave, Be Bold But Always Stay Humble

Love Stories, Even When Love Hurts

Hey Hey everyone, long time no see. Its been one hell of a ride over here. Tennessee got hit with the snow, and well you know how that goes… everything got grinded to a halt. Gremlin also got a two week vacation due to road conditions. So needless to say, my work schedule got thrown out the window, my house looks like a tornado hit it (because in all reality it did), and my sanity packed it bags and took the first thing smoking to warmer weather. 

So with that being said…. I thank all of you for sticking around. I will try to do better with posting, but life is fixing to get crazy and its gonna be one hell of a ride. What do I mean you ask? 

Well…. In about a month, I’ll be heading to Sinful Signings in Roanoke, Va. No, I’m not lucky enough just yet to be a signing author there, but my bestie P.A. Power is. I will be going to be his PA. So, LOTS to do there and lots of things to handle along the way. And its not slowing down from there. I have Indy in Indy in Aug. So, I have tons of work to do before that one comes up…. Plus, I’m starting to book my events for 2027.

Which is what got me to thinking, I have published two books since 2022. Destined For More and Crossroads. Two different series, two completely different concepts, but two massively important things in common…. One they both have badass women that in the end take-ith no shit. Second, they are romances. And it took years (AND I DO MEAN YEARS) to admit: Yes, I write romance. 

I write love stories even when love is the thing that broke me, and continues to break me everyday. Let me elaborate on that little before I move on. I love Spring and I love Fall, but it breaks my heart when they don’t get to stick around very long. I love my Gremlin, but there are days I wonder if I will ever get to hear him say those words back to me. I love/ tolerate the man I married. Because there are days I have to remind myself Orange doesn’t look good on me. Mainly because he’s promised to do something or take the Gremlin off my hands for a few hours so I can have just an afternoon of un-interruptions. What I get is complaints, him sound asleep, or completely ignoring his environment in favor of his phone. 

But it's then I remember my characters, especially then.

Because love isn’t just softness, safety, and happy endings tied up with a bow. Love is complicated. It’s messy. It leaves marks and scares. It teaches lessons you didn’t ask for and hands you grief right alongside joy.

And still—we keep reaching for it.

I don’t write love as a fantasy of perfection. I write it as survival. As choice. As something people carry even when it weighs them down. Love that hurts isn’t fake love. It’s unfinished love. Misaligned love. Love that collided with timing, trauma, fear, or growth and didn’t come out unscathed.

Some of the most honest love stories don’t end cleanly. They end truthfully. They show what it costs to care deeply. They show the aftermath—what people become after loving hard and losing anyway. They ask harder questions than will they end up together? They ask what did this change in them? and what do they carry forward?

I write love because it matters, even when it wounds. Because heartbreak doesn’t erase meaning. Because tenderness can exist alongside damage. Because choosing to feel, to hope, to try again—that’s its own kind of courage.

If love never hurt, it wouldn’t shape us the way it does.

So yes, I write love stories that ache. Love stories that burn slow. Love stories that don’t always offer comfort—but offer recognition instead.

And sometimes, that’s the kind of love we need most.

What kind of love stories speak to you right now—the soft ones, the painful ones, or the honest-in-between? What are you carrying forward, even if it still hurts? Tell me in the comments.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

I’m Not Reinventing Myself—Here’s What I’m Carrying Forward

Hey everyone! I know it’s been a hot minute since you have seen a post from me. First of all I would like to point out, as I always do, Burn out is fucking real and neglecting the signs is the quickest one way track to laying on your couch doom scrolling the day away. While also trying to convince yourself you will get up in a few minutes to handle that task that is now glaring at you. 

Now, couple that with the plague hitting my house like a 747 and you have a small glimpse into what I have been dealing with for the last two-ish months. I got sick about two weeks before Thanksgiving and stayed sick till just after. Gremlin got sick on the first day of Christmas Break and is just recently back up to par. Thankfully the other half hasn’t caught more than a cough that was quickly handled.

And that’s life at this grand moment in time. Fighting off sickness, while also trying to get work done, is enough to make you want to scream. Also with the Gremlin off school, let's just say no parent is getting anything done right now. If you are out there with littles, special needs, or teens that think the cleaning fairy will get it, my hats off to y’all. We are all in the same fucking boat right now. 

Which leads me into the whole topic of this post. Every year around this time, the internet gets loud about reinvention. All about New year, new you. Burn it all down. Become unrecognizable. 

That’s never been how my life worked. Hell the best I ever got into doing anything like that was picking a new hair color, maybe trying a new style, but never reinventing myself. Because here is the kicker, I’m unapologetically ME. I don’t need a new personality, a new spine, or a clean slate. I’ve earned what I carry, and I’m done pretending survival skills are flaws that need polishing away. Because when push comes to shove, it has been my skills, in various areas, that have been sought after from my friends. From cooking to automotive, I have walked them through the steps from hundreds if not thousands of miles away. 

What I and so many others need to be doing is choosing what comes with us into the new year. Think on that for one moment please. You don’t like your job? Figure out how to get into something that will fulfill you, while also keeping a roof over your head. (VERY IMPORTANT) You don’t like the company you keep? Maybe it's time to thin the herd a little. You recognize the person you see in the mirror? Honey, it's time for you to have a hard conversation with yourself. And this is just a few really great examples that I see everyday being thrown out there.

I am personally carrying forward the parts of me that learned how to function under pressure. Not that I haven’t been a master pro at that since I was like 8, but I’ve learned how to do it with a little bit more grace for myself. I’m taking the version of me that can build something out of scraps, keep moving when plans collapse, and tell the truth even when it’s uncomfortable to do so. 

I’m carrying forward the creativity that shows up messy and late but always honest. The instinct to write through confusion instead of waiting for clarity. The refusal to package pain into something pretty just to make it palatable for others. Because at the end of the day that pain turned into a warning tale that so many others read. 

I’m carrying forward boundaries that don’t require explanations, because at the end of the day when I say “hey that’s not gunna fly” Bet your boots its not going to. My private life is private unless I wish to share it. And when I say life be life-in, understand it's not that I don’t want to but I need to step back, because if I don’t no one is going to be happy with anything I do… Most of all, me. Love, creativity, and friendship doesn’t need an audience to be real.

What I’m not carrying forward is the expectation to perform growth for anyone else. The pressure to smooth my edges for approval. The belief that healing means becoming quieter, softer, or easier to digest. Because we all know that just isn’t who I am. Not as a person, mom, wife, writer, author, Co-Host or friend, I’m the same way online as you meet at any one of these conventions. I refuse to be anything other than who I am.

Growth, for me, in the new year looks like discernment. Choosing where my energy goes, and most importantly who/what it goes on. Because we are all out here begging for scraps (whether that be attention, time, or affection) from people who wouldn’t throw a glass of water on us if we were on fire, wouldn’t give food if we were hungry, or let us crash on their couches if we had no where else to go. 

This is where the line gets drawn in the concrete not the sand. The tide will come in and take away that line on the sand, not the concrete. We all have to stand like statues in our peace, our convictions if you will, if we are to see any real change and stop circling the drain.

This space exists because I’ve been done with shrinking my voice to fit algorithms, timelines, or trends. I’m here to write honestly, live intentionally, and let the work speak for itself. No reinvention. Just continuation—with purpose.

So as we step from one dumpster fire into another (lets just set the expectation now), Are we team New Year New ME, or are we team leave what isn’t working and keep moving forward? Because the 2nd seems like a whole ass better option. So I pose this question for you my dear reader: What are you leaving behind and what are you carrying forward with you?

 Tell me in the comments. I’m always here listening. And BTW if you don’t have anything going on Saturday nights, Come watch me and my crew. Links Below! Hope to See you there!

Be Brave, Be Bold, But ALWAYS Stay Humble.

https://www.twitch.tv/holdmypenpromptcast

www.youtube.com/@HoldMyPenPromptcast

Plot Twists and Laundry: Which Will Claim My Sanity First?

Hey Peps. Bet you were wondering where I have been. Well…. I hit burn out at the speed of light, crashing head first into the brick wall of life at the speed of sound. Factor in the day to day writing, lack of sales and stress… You have a recipe for disaster.  So, the only thing I could do for the last little bit is take two giant ass steps back.

While I was gone though, I did start working on a new book. Well, not new new it was something that I had been dabbling with since the summer but really hunkered down working on. Cuts and Cufflinks, a biker billionaire romance. Here’s the fun part… She’s the biker. With any real luck it will be out in time for Indie in Indy next Aug. 

Now for the burning questions that seem to be raging through my fans minds… When is the next book in the 4 Queens for 4 Kings series going to be coming out… well there is no real answer for that one. I will finish the stories. I have not abandoned the Queens. Its just hard for me to look at them right now. The people that the queens were based off of either have moved on in more ways than one or no longer want to be part of the project. This leaves me with a sinking sorrow. 

See, there’s a special kind of madness that happens when your creative life and your real life collide. One minute, you’re knee-deep in a scene where your characters are arguing over who gets the last word—and the next, you’re elbow-deep in a pile of laundry that smells like someone fought a war in it. Both situations require strategy, emotional stamina, and possibly caffeine in IV form.

I’ve decided that writing and laundry are basically the same battle in different outfits. Both pile up when you’re not looking. Both demand attention right when you’ve found your flow. And both can make you question every life choice that brought you here. The Never-Ending Spin Cycle

Writing is just another spin cycle, isn’t it? You think you’re done with revisions, but then one character whispers, “Actually, I think I’d rather stab someone in this scene.” Suddenly, you’re replotting three chapters and questioning whether you’ve accidentally written a thriller instead of a romance. Meanwhile, your dryer beeps—again—and you realize you’ve washed the same load three times because you keep forgetting to switch it over.

At this point, I’m convinced the dryer and my manuscript are in cahoots. Every time I think I’ve made progress, they both reset themselves out of spite.

The Great Character vs. Sock Conspiracy

I’ve lost track of how many socks have disappeared and how many characters have refused to follow the damn outline. Coincidence? I think not. Somewhere in the universe, there’s a parallel dimension filled with my lost socks, abandoned storylines, and plot bunnies reproducing faster than I can keep up.

The real villain in every story I write might just be the chaos of my own making. And honestly, that feels fair.

The Writer’s Juggle

Between deadlines, day jobs, parenting, and trying to keep the house from looking like a crime scene, it’s easy to feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water. My brain doesn’t know when to shut off, so while I’m folding towels, I’m also mentally rewriting dialogue. By the time I’ve finished the towels, I’ve forgotten the line entirely. Genius ideas apparently have a five-minute expiration date.

But the truth is, that juggling act—the chaos, the mess, the unglamorous day-to-day grind—is what fuels the stories. Every meltdown, every overloaded laundry basket, every sleepless night trying to untangle both real and fictional problems gives the words their weight.

Finding Sanity in the Madness

I used to think that to be productive, everything had to be perfect first. The house. The mood. The energy. The mythical balance that doesn’t actually exist. Now, I know better. The mess is part of it. The chaos is the process.

Some days, the words win. Some days, the laundry does.

And some days, I’m just grateful to survive both without crying into the hamper or keyboard.

So if you’re out there, staring down a blank page or a mountain of laundry—or both—just know this: you’re not alone in the spin cycle. Keep writing. Keep moving. Keep laughing when the dryer eats another sock. Because one day, you’ll look up from the chaos and realize you’ve created something beautiful out of the mess.

Even if it’s just a story and a single matching pair of socks.

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.

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