Tales From The Coffee Shop

The job of a mother is never done. And neither is the job of an author. It's funny because the two are very similar. As authors, we birth these characters from our thoughts, just as we do our children. They start as nothing more than a thought, an idea that might turn into something more. Then, once their name is written down on paper, they become real. Tangible. Moldable. Character mapping takes time. You mold and sculpt your characters as you envision them. You document how you think they're going to look, sound, think, and feel. But you still don't fully know them until you begin writing their stories. And even then, they surprise you. First drafts are their toddler years. They might be a little bland or perhaps even a little over the top during that first go-around, but that's because you're still getting to know them and discovering how they actually operate compared to how you originally imagined them. With every round of edits and every change that's made...

The air has shifted. Those were the first words of the blog I just found sitting in my drafts...FROM APRIL! That was the last time I wrote a blog and updated my audience of my on-goings and musings. And somehow, the words that I wrote...they weren't wrong and I can guarantee you, when I wrote those words sitting on my friend's back porch in Vancouver, I had no clue just how much shifting the air still had left to do.  I remember that trip like it was yesterday. I was burnt out. I'd been running around like an over-caffeinated squirrel that had forgotten to take its ADHD medication for months. I was working seven days a week trying to grind away at a gig-economy job that was starting to die off, just like the town we lived in. That trip was the much needed and long anticipated reprieve. A week-long trip in a beach front condo on the Oregon Coast with one of the best people in my life.  When I wrote "The air has shifted" on her back porch, I meant literally. I remem...

I think by this point we all know that Stephenie Meyer, author of the bestselling series Twilight , traveled to Forks, Washington and wrote the book in a café there. While I understood why she would want to go there for research purposes, I never really understood the appeal of writing somewhere other than your own home. I had always written at my desk in my dining room or in a notebook on my lap in bed with no problems. And then I discovered my local coffee shop. While my debut manuscript wasn't born in this shop, it came to life here. And I've often wondered why it took this little, cozy place to make that happen. The answer isn't quite what you might think. While the coffee shop plays a role (and more than just a small one), it has more to do with an internal awakening that happens here in the mornings. I forget sometimes that the only reason I found this little shop was because I had quit my toxic job and was trying to find something that was just for me. A place to giv...

Creative burnout, delayed book releases, and finding my way back to writing I've experienced harsh winters before. Some were cold enough that I questioned whether I would make it through them. But here I am again, writing about another winter—one that wasn’t as brutal as some of the ones in the past, but harsh enough that I found myself wrapped in a blanket, quietly hoping the sun would return soon. And as if on cue, it has. The sun has been shining again. There have been a couple of cloudy days here and there over the last week, but that’s okay. Both metaphorically and physically speaking.  That’s why they call them the seasons of life. Sometimes they line up almost perfectly with the seasons outside our windows. This last winter of life was one of those times.  If you follow me on social media, you probably saw me make the gut-wrenching decision to push back the release of Comatose . In fact, the book was supposed to release yesterday. Now, there isn’t an exact date. Al...

I’m sitting in my coffee shop — the one that gave me a safe space to write. A safe space to create. A safe space to just… be me. And honestly, I’m overwhelmed. For those of you who’ve been following this journey, you know the technological struggle has been real. I decided to write a book, and about a month into it my computer — the trusty steed that she was — ran her final run. Suddenly, I had no way to continue writing my debut novel. Or so you’d think. Not a stranger to terrible timing, I improvised. I wrote the entire manuscript by hand before eventually switching to an iPad. It wasn’t perfect, but once I paired it with a Bluetooth keyboard, I became unstoppable — 143,000 words in just four months. And then, as some of you noticed, I went silent. As fate would have it, the universe wanted to see just how badly I wanted this dream. In January, I was out of town for work, staying with a friend. On my last night, we went out to dinner. Things were finally starting to look up. I was a ...

  The sun rose over the rolling hills of the Palouse, and I sat on my porch, drinking my coffee. Not that I needed it. I was already jittery from the nerves that had knotted my stomach into a twisted mess. But the warmth of it on my tongue grounded me in something familiar — something I was desperate for, knowing what was coming in just a few hours. Since I was seventeen, there’s only been one time in my life when I didn’t work. It was 2012. The world was finally starting to crawl out of the recession — not that I noticed, because I’d been poor since the moment I left my grandparents’ house — and I’d just lost my job. Trying to find another at that time was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And to top it off, I was pregnant. No employer will ever tell you they’re not hiring you because you’re pregnant. Instead, they’ll tell you that you’re just “not a good fit.” I heard that one too many times to count. It took two years to finally find work again — and I’ve had a job ...