Several weeks ago, I had my first conversation with a literary agent. A real literary agent! She had contacted me, inviting an introductory phone call, and I was just beside myself with excitement. I spent hours researching her and her agency before gathering questions and talking points for our call. When it came time to speak with her, I couldn’t have felt more prepared. The conversation was wonderful; we connected well within a steady flow of thoughtful questions and storytelling. If you . . .
My husband and I have a dog, Roger. He scares easily, hates being alone, and yawns more frequently than any living being I’ve ever met. We have big love for this little pup. However, one of the most miserable experiences to share with Roger is driving on the highway. He hates it. The car goes too fast, the noises are too loud, and there are no sufficient places to hide. When we make the 5-hour drive to visit our Chicago-area family, Roger’s anxiety takes up most of the space in our . . .
My husband and I found our new favorite chicken wings. You guys, I cannot describe to you how good these things are. They are char-grilled and perfect. We went to get them this weekend; every time we go, I think they're probably not going to be as good as I remember. And EVERY TIME THEY ARE AS GOOD AS I REMEMBER. Now, this is not a piece entirely about chicken wings, but I needed to start somewhere and what better place to start than chicken wings? The chicken wings restaurant is Pies & . . .
I've published a new piece on this blog every single week for the past 85 weeks. EIGHTY-FIVE! Google and I figured that out together. Isn't it wild? There was spotty and unpredictable writing that preceded this 85-week run, but never before has my writing seen so much consistency. 85 weeks. Hold on, I'm going to remove my hands from the keyboard to applaud myself for a second. This is a big win for me. I've never worried about running out of things to write about. As long as I keep living my . . .
You guys, I'm struggling this week. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about having had a long weekend, but it really throws me off. I don't know what day it is, I'm all behind on work, and somehow I'm more tired now than I am after a regular weekend (Why?!). I think there's something about this time of year that makes me feel extra scattered. Even though no one in my little family is operating on a school year calendar, I can feel all of the transition happening around me. Kids are . . .
Growing up, I couldn’t bear to hear the word “confession” without getting a knot in my stomach. Nothing sounded more miserable than willingly sharing my wrongdoings with other people—let alone with God. This is probably why I wouldn’t do it unless, of course, I was caught in my sin. I don’t need to volunteer my screw-ups to anyone, thank you very much. I’ll keep that information safe with me and we’ll all be better for it. That, however, is not the case. Refusing to engage in confession is . . .