My goal for Brain Tumor Awareness Month.

I don’t set writing goals like other writers, some of whom shoot for daily or monthly word counts, or to finish a chapter, or to post on their website or social media daily.  I don’t set those goals because I never know how many hours in a day, if any, I’ll be able to write.…

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I don't know me.

I finally sat down today with my freelance editor’s notes on section 1 of my memoir manuscript. Section 1 describes the years leading up to my son’s diagnosis with a brain tumor. My editor told me it would need a lot of work, and it does. So often in her notes, my editor questions why…

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Personal growth in a story I didn't want to tell.

In September 2016, when I realized my short-term disability leave was going to be long-term, I knew it was a gift from the universe and I couldn’t blow it again. The gift was time—time to finish the memoir I began over 15 years ago. When I started writing, I told the story of my son’s…

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I am a warrior.

Earlier this year, I wrote my four brothers an email with the specifics of the surgery I would be getting in May. I talk regularly on the phone with my parents and my sister, so those three already knew the particulars of the very intimate procedure. My brothers and I talk less frequently. I couldn’t bring myself to call each of them and go through the whole story four more times. Plus, they’re, you know – guys – and I’m, well – a prude – so I opted for electronic communication. 

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Acceptance. I’m working on it but not yet there.

I wrote so much last week, I think the writing center in my brain is fried. 

Not all of my writing appears on my blog, but between my regularly scheduled blog, a bonus blog, an op-ed, working on my memoir (here’s an earlier scene) and some pieces that I sent to online publications, I’ve been busy. And my brain is worn out.

I’ve worked on at least seven blog topics so far this week, but I can’t get any of them to gel. Here’s a few that I’ll have for you someday:

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    I’m open to the possibility. Are you?

    When I looked out of the living room window the other day, I saw that my climbing hydrangea had buds. “Michael!” I yelled to my husband who was in the yard. I ran outside and dragged him over to look. Upon closer inspection, we saw five clusters of buds about to explode into starbursts of tiny white flowers. I had waited five years for this.

    The next day, I was strolling around the back yard and again yelled to Michael to “come look!”  This time it was my yucca, a name that belies its stately spires of white flowers. In seven years, my yucca has graced me with this vision just once. As I pointed out to Michael the tall stalk rising up out of the scratchy foliage, I noticed two more blooms-to-be.

    There’s more. If you’re not a gardener, stay with me here. There’s a deeper meaning to my garden eureka moments. At least that’s what I choose to believe.

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    A prophecy came to me in the parking lot.

    Prophecy: Sun shining through clouds

    It was almost a year ago that I took a medical leave from my job. I expected to return to work in a month. Then the month became two months. Then three.

    At that point, I didn’t know if I was physically capable of returning to work. At the same time, I couldn’t imagine not working. Age 57 is not exactly an ideal time to drop out of the workforce. And retirement wasn’t on my horizon yet.

    Yet a nagging question bubbled at the edge of my consciousness: Do I really have the drive or the desire to go back to the rat race?

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