We all want the same things. To feel that our stories are heard and have the tiniest smidgen of meaning in the vast scheme of the universe. To find our purpose in life. To never be the person who uses the last of the toilet paper roll and has to replace it.
This blog tackles the first two (the third one I’m still working on) and other issues, like, will I finish my novel and will anyone buy it when I do? I blog about the craft of fiction, writing from the soul and the what and why of my upcoming book, The Bark Peeler’s Daughter.
I live in Ocean Shores, an end-of-the-road beach town on Washington’s rugged coast. My housemates are my incredibly talented, adorable husband Bob and Sir Rochester, our all-black, camera-shy rescue cat— better known as Chester. Our daughter lives in New York City and is pursuing a career in stage and film.
Oh, and I suppose I should tell you a little about my debut novel, The Bark Peeler’s Daughter. Here is the movie trailer version:
When her aging mother reveals a long-guarded secret and her smart but despondent daughter reaches a breaking point of her own, a conflict-averse woman must come to grips with her past as the child of a poor, troubled religious zealot. She is faced with an impossible choice: whether to embrace her mother and the repressive, bigoted church she was raised in or to shake off her past and give her daughter the unconditional love she desperately needs. Set in the lush green of the Pacific Northwest’s rugged coast and and told in flashbacks, The Bark Peeler’s Daughter explores the ways violence toward women reverberates across generations and tells the story of one woman’s struggle to decide once and for all who she is and what she stands for.
I’d be honored if you’d join me as I continue this journey of blogging, writing and reflecting on life. I am especially interested in how you feel about the things I blog about and am looking forward to getting to know you.
Weird Things About Me
Things I Love
Any movie in the film noir genre, but especially the ones from the 1940s: Sunset Boulevard, Double Indeminity, Sorry Wrong Number, the whole bunch.
Taking a walk on a foggy fall day. At the beach, the fog rolls in nice and thick in the morning and has usually lifted by noon.
Snow globes. I once saw a whole store in Manhattan dedicated to snow globes. Bob finally had to pry my hands from these beautiful objects and pull me, kicking and screaming, out the door.
Making popping noises with that bubble wrap stuff. It seems to be a ‘girl thing.’ To this date, I’ve never seen a person of the male persuasion with this addiction.
Turning off the sound on movies and making up lines of dialogue. The plot can get even more twisty with two people playing.
The sound of a boat’s foghorn. Lonely. Mysterious. Melancholy.
The smell of asphalt after a summer rain. Forget Chanel. I want a perfume with this scent in it.
Things That Make Me Anxious
Thunderstorms. Me and the cat. We both cower, but I haven’t crawled under the bed. Yet.
Skype calls. The more I prepare for them, the greater my angst. What if I say something I didn’t mean to say? Where is the editing button?
When someone—okay, my spouse—starts the movie after the opening credits. It spoils the movie for me if I don’t see everything from the beginning to the end.
Big trucks in motion, especially in the freeway lane next to me. When I was little, my 5-year-old cousin died when my aunt left him in the car on the side of a country road to make a one-minute stop at a grocery store. He decided to follow her and didn’t see the 18-wheeler bearing down.
M&Ms that can’t be sorted into colors by two’s. That odd number has always bothered me.
The watery liquid that comes out of the mustard bottle on the first squeeze. Is the sandwich even edible when that happens?
I hope you’ll stick around and even share your thoughts from time to time, if a post happens to move you. Thanks for visiting.