writing
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Last summer, I started my first flash fiction challenge. I only made it through the first two challenges out of four. That is alright though. The fun of making myself write in areas that I am not the most familiar is good for me. It challenged me and that is the point of the challenge…at
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I am no stranger of thinking negatively…from thinking I am the most unattractive woman around to thinking that the stranger next to me is a serial killer. Although, really, that last one might be more of a paranoid side effect of reading too many Ted Bundy true stories, along with living in Tallahassee, Florida years
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Today is November 1st. For some people, that means getting ready for Thanksgiving. For me? It means getting on a strict writing schedule to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).
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This is the last week of my thirties and good riddance! I used to think my thirties were the best decade: I got married, bought a house, fell in love with teaching, self-published two books, was given an awesome opportunity to go to San Francisco for a photo shoot (DHC customer spotlight), and had the miracle
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I love reading. Reading has been at times my escape, my companion, my teacher and my seducer (did you read Fifty Shades of Grey?! That is all.) However, I was raised by a mother who adores to read and a father who openly hates school and hates to read. Ironically my mother (the parent
Jessica Warren 