When I was a kid, I was obsessed with Strawberry Shortcake dolls. I’d save up my weekly allowance, and when I had enough saved, my mom would take me to the local toy store, where I would buy one of the dolls. The dolls had cute names like Strawberry Shortcake, Apple Dumpling (a baby), Blueberry Muffin, and Huckleberry Pie. On top of being adorable, they were scented, and they smelled heavenly. Then, there was the Strawberry Shortcake bakery, a must-have for any serious collector; it came with a little oven, some fake pies, some garden utensils, and plastic strawberries, among other things. But there was one small problem with the…

It was the end of the eighth-grade school year. I stood in the garage in tears, pleading with my dad while he folded his laundry. Before that day, he’d agreed to let me go on a three-week vacation to Iowa with my best friend and her family. I know, I know—Iowa—for vacation? When you’re fourteen, and your friends invite you to go somewhere, it doesn’t matter where you’re going or what you’re doing. What matters is that you get to hang out with your buds. Three weeks of uninterrupted hanging out would be pure bliss, and the thought of missing that was inconceivable. That day, standing in the garage, I…

Recently, I saw a question posted on Facebook that went something like this: When you were a kid, what was something other families had that made you think they were rich? When I was young, I believed that anyone with a two-story house was loaded, and I always got super-excited if I was invited to stay over with someone who lived in one. I mean, HELLO, there were STAIRS…that you could slide down. And why, when I got there, did we spend time playing games or watching television when there were stairs just waiting for a kid to come slide on them? How did those kids make time for things…

The day my mom died was the day I stopped believing in God, heaven, and the other nonsense to which so many of my friends subscribed. I was of the opinion that there were only two types of people—the living and the dead. When someone died, that was it. They didn’t go to a better place or become reincarnated. They simply ceased to exist. I sometimes wished I could believe in the hereafter, then maybe my mother’s death wouldn’t have ripped my guts out the way it did. And perhaps at the funeral, when my neighbor Mrs. Sykes hugged me and whispered, “Don’t be sad, Emily. You’ll see her in…

When we hear the word accomplishment, we often think of things like certifications, degrees, and job promotions.  I looked up the definition of the word, and the one I like best is the successful completion of a task.  If someone asks me how my weekend was, I immediately think of the things I did (or did not) do.  I feel like any productive day equals a good day, and the same goes for the weekend.  Although downtime is something we all need from time to time, I find that for me, productivity is much more satisfying than sitting around. The things I get done may be small things: I vacuumed,…

My son’s move into his own place started a chain reaction of cleaning, sorting, organizing, trashing, and donating. I started by going up into the attic each day I was off and bringing down three or four plastic tubs. I’d clean the tubs off (yes, a little OCD over here), go through them, and sort everything out: things for my son to go through, items to donate, and things to trash. It took weeks, many trips to Goodwill, and even a trip to the dump. Oh, and a lot of work. The end of the cleaning and organizing marked the beginning of the paint fiasco. I won’t bore you with…

My mom died when I was eleven, and from then on, holidays were different. To be honest, they sucked; but the worst holiday of all was Mother’s Day. For me, it hadn’t turned into ‘just another day’; instead, it was a sad day. It was a day to watch everyone else celebrate something that I was no longer eligible to participate in.   At the time, my situation was rare. I didn’t know of one other kid who had lost a parent, and I can’t count how many times I’d get invited somewhere with, “Call and ask your mom if you can come.” Friends who knew I had no mom…

If there’s one thing an author (especially a debut author) needs to know, it’s that not everyone will like your work; in fact, some people may hate it. Sorry, but that’s just the truth. When you take a leap of faith and put your work out for the world, you must do so understanding that you are not only inviting praise but also criticism, and if you don’t have thick skin, you’ll either get some really quickly, or you’ll be a hot mess. If your publishing journey ends up being anything like mine, here’s what you have to look forward to: You finish your book. Ah, the masterpiece. You feel…