I spent most of my life allowing people to walk all over me.
Now, those same people say I’ve become selfish.
They say I’m quick to burn bridges.
What they don’
A lot of people misunderstand why writers need to make money.
I don’t want to make money with my writing just to have more money.
I want to make money
The Value of Life: Abortion, Adoption, and Agency
Our struggle seems to manifest in different ways: in our attempts to systematize complex moral decisions, our shifting language, our efforts to protect both individual agency and collective responsibility.
Sometimes I miss who I was before grief changed me.
But now I am someone who:
* doesn’t waste time
* has the courage to self-advocate
* opens herself up to receiving
A message from a new patron:
Hello, thank you for inviting me to be part of this. It really helps me a lot and I didn&
Currently reorganising my entire library.
I’ve taken all my books off the shelves and stored them in the guest room for now.
Husband took
No one knew I was suicidal.
Now it’s officially part of my library hehe.
As a more recent Talebones reader, I haven’t read any of these stories before, but I did read Sayblood’
I just got tickets for the San Diego Writers Festival. WHO EVEN AM I??!
Today is the first day of Lent.
Instead of focusing on the celebration at the end, though, I want to share something someone older and wiser than
Letters to the Forgotten Ones I Still Love
I suppose normally now would be the moment to place some epilogue of good feeling, of how I see the way God is working, how I’m sure it will all make sense one day, of the good that has come from it. But I do not, and I don’t know why, and in truth, no “why” could ever excuse or justify the pain.
Having a toddler is reading the same book 10 times in a row.
I used to think my story didn’t matter.
Then, someone said my writing helped them cherish their loved ones more.
Someone else said I inspired them to write
How many secrets does this tree hold, do you think? (Santa Barbara, 2015)
One day, I wandered into the forest and never came back.
Wasn’t going to do a print edition of this, but there’s just something about physical books, isn’t it?
My husband is always my first reader.
Sometimes he’s very nice.
Other times, he’s brutal.
“Why is he a banker?”
“Why are they fighting? Need