January 31, 2018

I have a thing for hockey. Watching hockey, talking hockey, looking at hockey players, reading a book where hockey in part of the plot…all of it turns me on.

Hockey is the greatest sport on earth. There, I’ve said. All you baseball purists and football fanatics can hate on me.

I marvel to think that I didn’t give hockey a first glance until my late 30s. I grew up with five brothers. Three sisters as well, but in many ways my brothers were more influential. Probably because in a family of nine, the last “tranche” included myself and three brothers. We watched sports all the time. My Dad was a baseball devotee, never missing a Red Sox game. And my brothers were super fans of the New England Patriots and the Boston Celtics. They’d sometimes quiz me on jersey numbers, testing me to see if I could name the player associated with each number.

So, yes, it’s fair to say I became a sports fan. But oddly enough, hockey never entered the picture—until my four-year old son insisted on playing. It qui...

January 10, 2018

I went into this holiday season feeling creatively depleted. Shoulder deep in my manuscript, I lacked the motivation to take it to the finish line. Part of the problem is knowing exactly where the finish line is and what it looks like. Writing is so subjective! I had some (minor) successes last year that motivated me for a good while. One of those successes was finding three critique partners who have been giving me some eye-opening feedback on my story. But for every step forward, it seemed there were two steps back.

Then the holidays came, starting with Thanksgiving. I thought the week-long break I took for the great American feast would be enough. But when the turkey was gone and my family had departed, I still had nothing to give to my story. So I turned my focus to the Hanukkah/Christmas season, telling myself that after the New Year I’d be good to go. An entire week went by after the New Year and I could barely get myself to flip open my laptop. The revisions that loomed ahead of...

December 12, 2017

I’ve decided to gift romance novels for the holidays this year. Not to everyone in my life, just my girlfriends; though, if I could turn everyone on to reading romance I would. Especially these days, when the world seems so dark. No matter which side of the political spectrum you fall on, I think we can all agree that, as a nation, we are very divided right now. Heck, as a planet, we are very divided right now. If we could all focus on the goodness that is out there, loving one another and loving ourselves, it would go a long way toward healing some of our ills.

Back to the topic, I want to give each of my three closest girlfriends a romance novel for the holidays. I can't wait for them to try romance and, hopefully, discover the inherent joy and escapism that I so love about this genre. However, trying to figure out which book to give each of them is a conundrum. There are so many to choose from and I have more “favorites” than I can count on one, two or even three hands. For starters,...

May 14, 2017

There’s this version of me that I want to be. I’m not talking about the perfect thigh, smooth skin, shiny hair version, though that would be nice! I’m talking about the authentic version of me, the one that satisfies all the wants and desires that lay hidden in deep crevices somewhere in my head. I’m not even aware of all of these “wants” because I’ve pushed them so deep in the need to fulfill all of the things that must be done: putting my kids first, being a good wife, trying to be there for my friends, maintaining my house, saving for retirement…you know, all of those adult responsibilities. But here’s the thing… slowly, as I grow older, more and more of these hidden wants are shaken loose.

I could be listening to the words of a song, watching a commercial, reading a book or just sitting on my front porch with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, and one will sneak out and explode in front of my, like a firework. And just as quickly it will disappear. Still, it leaves behind an impres...

February 28, 2017

I’m being a heartless shrew toward my middle child right now. He’s a boy. Thirteen, almost fourteen. A pissy teenager more often than I’d like. He’s also a giant baby when it comes to being sick. Oh, and an occasional faker, too!

So, when the nurse called me from school to tell me he wasn’t feeling well, my bullshit-meter kicked in. Here’s the thing— without visible symptoms, there is no way to tell if your child is truly sick or just wants to be at home. In my experience, it’s about 50-50.

I can relate. When I was a kid, I regularly visited the nurse’s office claiming to be sick when I wasn’t. Always on a Thursday. That was my mom’s day off. It was also her grocery shopping day. So, double bonus, I got time with my mom and could raid the fridge before my three brothers got home from school and scarfed everything down.

I have no idea my son’s reasons all those times he’s faked an illness. I don’t think it has ever been about spending time with me. Though, I have to admit, I’d be flattered...

January 21, 2017

“Write what you know.” It’s a phrase every writer has heard. As a new writer, I anticipated that building a story, developing the characters and remembering long-forgotten grammar skills would be challenging enough. So, when it came to choosing a setting for my story, I decided to go with my native state of New Hampshire.

The setting is fitting since like Amanda, my main character, I set out at eighteen eager to put my childhood behind me and build a life somewhere new. Also like Amanda, I headed to New York. However, this is where our adventures deviate from one another. I took a long detour through California before returning, not to New Hampshire, but to New York.

This time I settled out in the suburbs, along with my husband and three children, a far cry from the single working woman I had been the last time around. The suburbs are lovely—or at least they can be. We don’t have non-stop traffic, sirens at all hours and unidentifiable smells when the weather turns hot. That being said,...

December 16, 2016

At least once a week I tell my daughter I want to be like her when I grow up. Of course, each and every time she rolls her eyes and says, “Mom, you’re already grown up.” Because she’s eleven. Going on sixteen.

I do want to be like her. Every day. Sassy and confident, she has the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. A fact she embraces with absolutely no care to what others around her think! And she is almost always cheerful. How she manages that last one I just don’t know, but I am envious.

I’m forty-six years old and I’m just now coming into my confidence. I’ve always had it in some areas (I’m great at math and solving problems, I know the lyrics to more songs that any person should conceivably be able to remember, I have great instincts when it comes to reading people). But that bone deep kind of confidence my daughter seems to come by naturally has escaped me.

Until I hit forty. Then the pieces started coming together.

It seems that every time I click on a writer’s bio page, they mentio...

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