Sometimes, life throws you a curve ball. In May, I rejoiced as my darling oldest daughter graduated college (in four years!) with a degree in digital film production. In June, my husband walked out on me and the kids, my dog died, my roof sprang a leak, and I discovered a rotten patch of floor in my sun room.
I don't even want to TALK about July. Suffice it to say, it sucked dirty, hairy butt.
I am living a bad country song, and it ain't pretty.
On top of refinancing the house in my name, burying the rotten corpse of my marriage, and dealing with the fallout with my girls, I'm on deadline.
I'm supposed to write a ROMANCE when all I want to do is crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.
But, like the song says, I will survive. My heart is battered and bruised and my writing muscles are flabby, but I will finish the darn book. That's what writers do. That's what makes us a breed apart. We pour our joys and anguish into The Story.
So, I thank the Lord for my writing and for my many blessings. The bucket labeled Marriage may have sprung a leak, but the rest of my buckets are overflowing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Shane Falco and I have the next dance. It's the Electric Slide.