I’m packing up my iPhone, laptop, case of Pinot Noir and chocolate and heading back to my writing cave. It’s revision time!
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I love reading cookbooks late at night ohhing and ahhing over pictures of multi-layered cakes covered in homespun buttercream frosting and colorful sprinkles. It’s pastry porn and I love it.
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In my previous life – 30-something-ish years B.G (Before Greyson) I had mastered the art of living well.
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I made my first pumpkin pie of the season on Monday. This to me is the proverbial gun shot of the beginning of the holiday season. BANG! It’s on.
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I’ve been a terrible blogger. Mainly because I’m swapped with work. From my “jobby-job” to being a mom, a friend, a sister and a writer.
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I am trying not to call what I am currently experiencing … writer’s block. Once you say that out loud, it becomes real ya know. I read The Secret.
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You have no idea how many Saturday’s I spent sitting on the couch reading and taking interval breaks to roller skate and eat peaches.
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I used to love change. For years, I would purposely move, get a new job, apartment, haircut, boyfriend … whatever, just so I could shake up my life and see what would happen.
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I used to turn my nose at those “almost homemade” recipes. Cake in a box? so wrong. Frosting in a can, sacrilegious. Whip cream? whipped by hand of course, is there any other way?
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In the last few years, I have become more serious about working on the fiction that lives in my mind. It’s always been there, but I wasn’t ready or disciplined to do it, until now.
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