Great things happen around my table. When my kids were in local school and living at home, it’s where we sat to unwind and rehash the events of our day. It’s where my daughter sat to bang out her AP homework while my husband watched the Food Network late at night. My house is small but I own 3 tables and I MUST have all 3 tables. Table 1: The oak. Made by my father in law and the table my husband grew up with. It has dings and nicks. Each chair gloats a once very tight braid of rush material that now lays taped and pieced together…Because Lordy…$200 per chair to have rewrapped empties the book buying coffers. This table is where I learned my daughter licks and bites her lips when she’s concentrating. This table is where my youngest son, eats, head down without a word, using his fingers (much to his father’s dismay) and moaning out loud with every bite. This table is where my oldest son kicks his sister under the table because the boy is huge. My sweet departed grandmother has sat at this table. My uncle visiting from North Carolina has sat at this table, giving my son breathing treatments. I’ve laughed until I’ve cried with my mom, and my aunt at this table. I’ve sat across the wood from my husband and listened to his ridiculous Dad jokes and his hard conversations as we’ve tried to steer our children in the right direction. Table 2: The black shiny table in the tiny dining room. This table has hosted holiday dinners, been a COVID classroom, and now sits with the pieces of my husband’s most current puzzle. Table 3: My glass table out by the pool. It’s where I’ve written both of my novels, and where I watch the squirrels fight with the birds. It’s the table my kids know I am sitting at first thing in the morning. It’s where they join me for a quiet conversation, or just to sit and soak in the outside. It’s the table my sweet German Shepperd laid beneath, while I typed out word after word of my current WIP. My foot rubbed her back and her snores rivaled the crow calls. RIP sweet girl. What happens around your table? Laughing, talking, crying, holding hands, good food, bad food, spills, fights, wrestling (mother of 3 right here), girlfriends, best friends, new friends and old. My husband claims I’m too sentimental, but these tables mean the world to me and I will keep them to my dying day. My fellow romance reader, you will see that come through in my debut novel Baggage coming out October 2023. I am so excited to finally release this novel. It’s been a long time coming. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to connecting with you on my next blog post next Sunday. Have an excellent week and I hope you have great things happening around your table. Be Brave. Love Hard. ~Mar

November 1, 2023
If you’re a mom you know. If you’re a mom with a job, with dreams, with kids, with laundry, with a dusty dresser in your bedroom that won’t stay clean because you have to sleep with the fan every night or else you don’t get those precious four hours of sleep that all moms need.

I need more time in my day.

It’s eight o’clock and I’m ready for a shower but I have all these big plans about writing and marketing and reaching out to readers, and my children (who live too far away) running around inside my head. I try to maintain my focus, while in the shower, which by the way is supposed to be relaxing. Okay (my editor would love that I spelled OK, okay) anyway…my shower hasn’t been relaxing in twenty years. Every now and then while I’m under the spray I remember how much I love hot water and relish in it until the push to get out and carry on with the day’s goals cuts off any thoughts of restorative healing. And damn…every mother I know…even the one dressed up in tight pants and heels to go through the car line deserves restorative healing.

Because you’re a mom.

So big decisions need to be made. Do I join my lovely writing friends in NaNoWriMo, or continue trying to fit this writing inside of skinny moments I find between working, and home. The writing personality quiz I took today tells me I would write better in 15-20 minute time frames or focus on 100 words a day. WTF? I used to crank out 2000 a day. I thought when my kids got older I’d be able to spend more time writing. HMMMMM. Not working out that way. I must help with high school English. I must read Ray Bradbury’s There Will Come Soft Rains so I can have an intelligent conversation with my son about the importance of analyzing this text. But I will not tell him that the English teacher has it out for all parents in her class because that’s what it feels like. You know what reading this did? It lead me down a rabbit hole of wanting to know this story’s history and the relationship between it and the poem by Sara Teasdale. OMG! My brain was lit up. My son…not as thrilled.

So now. DO I join Nano, or do I sit here and try to crank out 100 words a day, without the support I clearly need to get me back on track. Because the Firestones have a few characters that still need their stories told. I can’t have them locked inside of me forever. I’ll never get sleep.

Be Brave. Love Hard. ~Mar