Being a Writer and Parent
I’ve been away from the endless skies of blank pages for some time. In my twenties I had something to prove—that I could be creative AND live on around 1K per month in a charming neighborhood…even if it was Spokane, Washington and not New York City or Los Angeles. I could write an entire novel while working at a chocolate shop and doing theatre on any stage that would cast me, paid or unpaid…FOR. THE. LOVE. In my early 30’s I wrote another two books because I wanted to create something beautiful and witchy and soulful…and because I had time since I was not raising children, nor married, just singularly ME. And then I walked across Spain on an ancient pilgrimage. I was channeling my inner Shirley McClain and had dared the universe to “Show me the next chapter of my life” since I had only planned out what to do with my life until the age of 30…at which point I guessed I would die, but that is a story for another time. On this walk across the Iberian peninsula, I fell in love with a