The past few months have been interesting. At first, I felt lost--like a motherless child in a dark forest--frightened and alone. But then, as I watched the trees sway and noticed the sunlight beaming through the wiry limbs, my fear subsided a little. And I walked on, even though there was no path and no clear direction. Through words and creative photography, I knelt down to pick wildflowers, and I tied my curls up with ivy vines. I pet a small brown rabbit with a cotton tail, and I met a fox who piqued my interest enough to name him. I cooked what I gathered. I read from a hidden library of old books. The tiniest nothings became my treasures, and all that was found, was good. The forest became my home. The wilderness became my peace.
I'd been blissfully wandering, but I wasn't working. I didn't writing much--on purpose--for the first time ever. I should have felt guilty. Every other time I hadn't been able to write, I'd feel this nagging guilt that wouldn't quit. But not this time. When I thought about why I'd been neglecting my passion, I felt...
And I didn't know why. I wasn't sure how to process it, or what to do absent my usual insatiable drive to write and the guilt and disappointment that accompanied that drive. I wondered if I had truly lost my way. Could it be possible? After writing books for a decade, would I walk away?
And for no real reason.
Nothing had happened. I wasn't depressed, no one died, my feeling weren't hurt, nothing. But something did happen, though. Something on the inside of me. I'd been withdrawing inward just a little and sorting through my heart's desire for life.
Solomon said, "Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind."
The only things worth investing in are God and people--the only eternal things in life. I've always had trouble balancing things. I was all in or all out. I'm not an in-between gal. But I've been on a journey to learn how to appreciate my small portion--to be at peace with where I am in life. Once I came to the conclusion that I needn't push myself so hard and work more, I began to find my way again. Now, I've created enough white space in my little world to enjoy, to live better, to love better, and to only do the things that bring joy.
So, yes. I'm writing again. Slowly and purposefully. I'm recording audiobooks at present and have gotten back to my storytelling roots with my podcast FABLED. It's been a strange and beautiful few months, but I'm so grateful for them. Sometimes all we need it a little space and quiet time to sort out what we truly want with our lives. As for me, I'm content where I am--possibly for the first time in my life. And that is a great way to begin 2019.
This year's word: PURPOSE.
Wishing you well.
P.S. If you'd like more audio recordings for future posts, let me know in the comments. :)
I promised everyone I'd share my thoughts on Nicholas Sparks' newest novel, Every Breath, so here it is. I'm not going to write a review because I share everything in the video, but if you've read it, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
The first two books in the Sisters of Bloodcreek Series are so entertaining and are the perfect dose of creepy. They're ideal for fans of the television shows Supernatural and The Originials but are also reminimescent of classics like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed.
Daphne and her fiance, Heath, have one very important thing in common--secrets. Their mysterious pasts bind them like some unspoken spell. They're safe with each other because they're both too afraid to ask questions, not wanting to open up their Pandora's box of sins.
But Heath is struggling. He's being tormented, not only by who he was but by who helped make him that way.
With Thanksgiving just around the corner, it's time to stock up on Christmas reads! What could be better than an unusual tale of woe and wonderful inspired by William Blake's "The Chimney Sweeper" and the lore of Krampus?!
Prompted by a school project, Sarafina sets out on a mission to discover the truth about her father. Her mother has never spoken of him and dodges her questions every time she asks. With the help of her friend Nicole and library resources, she's able to piece together her family's history. There's a reason why her mother has been so quiet and her grandmother never treated her like she cared.
Becky Villareal takes a sensitive topic and confronts it with both care and compassion. Can tragedy turn into a blessing? The story of these three strong women will answer that question.
The Sleet Tight Motel is one of those books you should cuddle up with—sure to keep you up at night. Though I found the main character, Eve, a bit naïve and not particularly likable, the story was overall interesting. The twist at the end was my favorite part.