Can I be totally honest you? I have no idea what I’m doing.

I went to school for Fine Art and failed English 101… twice. I can’t organize or prioritize to save my life. There are bits and pieces of stories scribbled on scraps of paper shoved into journals all over my house. There is no map for where I want this blog to go and I should probably post more than I do.

When we were working with the High School group at our church my husband gave me great advice just before I left to help on one of their missions trips. He said, “Nothing is going to go as planned. Nothing. You just have to go with the flow.” He was so right. But that’s a whole other story.

It was great advice and I actually use it a lot. I’ve given up trying to push my brain into a mold it wasn’t created to fit into. Instead I’ve learned to go with its flow. Yeah, it’s messy and scattered but at least it’s free.

For instance, I’m working on three separate stories right now. Logic would say focus on one at a time. But I’m excited about them all. So I’m writing three stories at the same time.

Would you like to know a little about them?

The first is about an old house that sits behind a large iron gate at the corner of Ash and 34th. Roses bloom brightly along the north gate. The sun is warm here and it heats up the leaden paint of the grand Victorian issuing a scent of age and forgetfulness into the air. A lonely girl who creates people by drawing them in her sketchbook lives here. She’s the only one in her family who isn’t afraid to climb the ornate staircase to the floors above even though the house has forbidden it, or so she has been told.

The second story takes place at a small diner in Hotel Circle, San Diego. The mornings are always misty here due to the fog that rolls in during the night. Gravel in the parking lot crunches beneath tires as sleepy-eyed tourists park their cars for breakfast before a long day of sightseeing. The hostess always wears a starched white shirt and a flower tucked behind her ear. Waffles puddled with white and milk chocolate are the diner’ s best seller. An abandoned baby was found in the lady’s room here making a WWII vet a hero once again. The regulars drink black coffee and give 95-year-old Clive a hard time for making his poor caregiver sit in the corner while he eats at the bar because, “Dammit, I flew a fighter jet over Germany. I can damn well eat breakfast by myself!”. Everyone loves Clive.

The third story begins in a small Irish fishing village.  The locals here don’t speak of the mysteries that dwell in the crumbling castles dotting their countryside. Drew laughs at their superstitious ways. Yes, he’s a seasoned fisherman but he never bought into the ghost stories. Little did he know the girl that just arrived in town who is plagued by seizures at one o’clock everyday holds the key to the ghosts in the ruins. And she has no idea of the comfort she’ll find in Drew’s kind eyes, gentle smile, and arm full of mysterious tattoos.


Hope you’re like what I’ve got brewing so far! Stay tuned for developments as I continue to go with the flow!

Featured Image credit: Astrid @blackpoppies


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