coffee death

At my new job, there is a coffeemaker.

Now, you may read that statement and hear excitement. It’s a logical conclusion. I love coffee.

The thing is, this is no ordinary coffeemaker. It’s more like a coffee machine. Single-cup brewing. When the screen flashes full sentences at you, it ceases to be an ordinary coffeemaker. And when it comes to me and technology, well . . .

I decided to do something smart. I asked for help. From a super sweet receptionist. It’s funny how putting on a suit and a cute pair of heels can make me bolder. Somehow I wasn’t afraid of looking like an idiot. Somehow I was okay with admitting my fear of breaking the beast of a coffee machine.

She showed me how to use it. And success. For three days, I made two cups a day without incident.

And then. (more…)

all creatures great and small

Sometimes I think, Huh, nothing odd has happened to me lately. Which is, of course, a dangerous thought, but I think it anyway. Because if odd happenstances don’t occur in my life, what am I going to write about?

Don’t worry. Odd things have happened.

For one thing, there are at least seven deer who reside in our neighborhood. Three of them like to hang out in our yard at night, especially when I’m coming home in the dark. Not when my husband’s home, though. They like to make me look like an idiot, talking about the deer that keep hanging around while my husband looks outside and goes “uh-huh, and what did these deer look like?”

Thanks a lot, deeries. I may not have known what a groundhog looked like, but I know deer, okay? I watched Bambi. (more…)

the beginning

I’ve always been a writer. From the moment I first wrapped my little fingers around a pencil, I’ve been scribbling thoughts and ideas. But I haven’t always written fiction. In fact, if you told me five years ago that I would write a novel (much less two), I would’ve smiled politely while thinking, Okay, strange person.

I tried writing fiction when I was a kid. It wasn’t very good. I was smart enough to realize that. And when you grow up in a competitive family, you either get good at whatever it is you attempt or you find something you are good at. I didn’t know how to get better. And the one writing workshop I went to actually made it harder for me to write.

I figured it just wasn’t for me. So at the age of 10, I dumped fiction and focused on poetry. Poetry was good to me. People liked my poetry. It came easily, effortlessly.

And then, as with all great personal stories, things happened. (more…)