Three years ago, I typed 'I used to be a writer... even a wife.' Now, rain or shine, you'll find me on this white wicker loveseat every Tuesday. Some costumes get retired, others reclaimed. But writer? That one's not 'used to be' anymore—it's who I am.
magnolia blooms
The Magnolias Bloomed Early, and So Did My Temper
Some buds emerge before their time, risking frost. During our first real argument, my carefully hidden temper surfaced in what felt like an hourglass minute. I waited for Charming to leave. Instead, he asked how we could disagree better next time. Grace, it seems, comes in unexpected moments.
Writer's Growth 