A week has 7 days. Someday isn’t one of them…Start writing today.

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Days Away

Saturday I took my daughter and the Girl Scout troop to a private beach in Long Beach and they canoed, kayaked and paddle boarded. Needless to say, the girls had a blast. Due to my back issues (herniated disc) I stayed on the beach and read and even napped under the pop-up. It was fantastic.

We got back yesterday afternoon and unpacked, did laundry and just relaxed but today I will be back to the grind.

I will make dinner and then write until my fingers fall off. I’m already feeling the need, the compulsion to get to it. I have ideas and figured out problems that I was struggling with and all it took was a weekend at the beach.

How do you relax? What helps you get your flow flowing again? Share!


What a week! Work was c-ra-zy! I’m thrilled it’s almost over and I will be at the beach all weekend. While my Girl Scout troop kayaks (I have a herniated disc so I can’t kayak without tremendous amounts of pain) I will be writing and editing the book I’m working on which is tentitively called Indiscretion. Wish me luck!

What are you doing this weekend?


Last night I spent most of the night alone. My daughter was at the opera and the husband was at Disneyland with his sister. It was just me and my writing partner (aka: Cholula, my Chiweinie dog). It was an amazing night. I wrote, I cooked, I read, did yoga. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

This morning when I looked back at my writing, I noticed my rough draft chapter was better than a typical rough chapter. Why? I wondered.

According to Fast Company being tired can make you more creative! See the link below.


What do you think? When do you work best?

Daily Prompt #6

Write a scene from the viewpoint of a dead person in a casket.

My take on it:

The view from the casket is odd. I’d sit up, at the very least, if I could.

Do you know what my first thought was when I looked up at the mourners? Nose hairs. All of my friends and family stand over me, most reciting sweet but only partially true epitaphs as I make a mental note about the length, color or protrusion of their nose hairs.

I make silent jokes about Aunt Bernice and her red tangle of protruding nose hairs until Sam stepped up to the casket, his blond hair falls over his left eye as a single tear tumbles down his cheek and then off of his chin, landing on my right arm.


Now is your turn! Send me your version below!