Several years ago, I wrote a short story called “One Last Time” about a young woman who couldn’t seem to stop lying. Whenever she lied, she promised herself it would be the last time—that she would always tell the truth going forward. But if someone asked her a question, she couldn’t seem to resist the…
Tag: writing
Trusting Your Instincts
Have you ever let fear keep you from doing something? If that something is physically dangerous, then fear might be the first step toward your survival. But what if the something you’re afraid of can’t physically hurt you? What if the fear of it holds you back—keeps you from moving forward or enjoying life to…
Smiling in the face of fear
Raising my girls is the scariest, most wonderful thing I’ve ever done. Publishing Symphony of Dreams is probably second on the list. I must admit it’s neck and neck with being part of a live improv show which I did last Saturday. However, in an improv show, you work with others in the crew and…
Too busy to breathe
Lately, I’ve been stuck. Somehow, I over-committed. It was out of love, as usual. Love of words, love of writing, love of friends. Between work, trying to market Symphony of Dreams, helping a friend with his manuscript, working on a solo-performance, and trying to get The Courier ready for publication, I lost “something.” First, my…
Marketing, Schmarketing
So I say to myself, “Now, Cynthia. How hard can it be to get a little attention for your book? I mean Symphony of Dreams is a great story. The people who’ve read it, love it. You love it. And we’ve all been in Symphony’s position at one time or another. So . . ….
Weeds
One glance at my garden used to leave me gnashing my teeth. Weeds were everywhere. If one of my plants wasn’t doing well, it was usually sharing its little plot of the world with a healthy green squatter. From experience, I can assure you that no amount of cursing will kill a weed. I have…
Lies, Lies, Lies
Mr. Rogers died. Then came the story about how he was a Navy Seal and a sniper in Vietnam with 25 confirmed kills to his credit. And . . . the reason he always wore a sweater was to cover up his tattoos. I was shocked. I always saw him as a sort of bland…
Going places
Mama used to tell this story about how I came home from first grade in hysterics. The teacher said we were going to read the next day and I was horrified. How was I supposed to read? I didn’t know how. I insisted Mama teach me that very night so I’d be ready. She tried…
On this day, I write
Robert Dugoni opened the Surrey conference I just attended. “On this day, I write,” was the ending phrase of his speech. If you’d like to hear it, please click here. It is inspirational. Thanks to Robert Dugoni, I began the conference reminded of why I write. Thanks to Robert McCammon, and Robynn Sheahan, and Russell…
Where does the dream stop and the story begin?
I awoke this morning in the middle of a dream. I had been re-hired by a firm I worked for fifteen years ago. It was my first day back. Scrambled eggs, sausage links, and hash browns were being served on the over-polished, walnut conference table. Hmmm. Family breakfasts weren’t company policy when I worked there…