A year ago, before I moved to Orange County, I told my employers in Oregon that I was moving because I’d won a writing competition at Chapman University and was going back to school to work with a professor on my novels. The truth was I hadn’t actually won the competition yet. I’d only entered. But I believed that what I’d written was good enough to get me accepted and more importantly, I WANTED that to be the way my life unfolded. So I made the move BEFORE I knew the results, which helped me . . .
How to Support Your Dream Job When Your Dream Job Doesn’t Pay
My generation does a lot of things really well, but something we don’t do well, is tell it how it really is, on social media. Lots of accounts encourage us to follow our passion. To live our bliss. To go after our dream jobs. And beneath these calls to action are photos of young people running off into the sunset. Or sunbathing on a beach. Or frolicking through a field with friends. As someone who has chosen to pursue my dream job, I can tell you my life does not look like this. It does . . .
You’ve Got Mail: The Power of Handwritten Letters
This is a mailbox. I’ve included several pictures in this blog for all my readers who haven’t visited theirs in a while. They’re cute, right? But—I get it—they’re not the most efficient way to receive news and they definitely aren’t the most immediate way to communicate. I could send thirty-six text messages and seven emails in the time it would take me to walk to the post office down the street from my house, buy a stamp, and drop a letter in the mail. So why bother? Let me tell you a . . .
The Serendipitous Story of the Balboa Island Cottage
Not only do I tend to draw inspiration from romantic comedies when I’m writing, I have been known to dramatically turn my life upside down after watching particular ones. I moved to Charleston, South Carolina years ago solely because of The Notebook. While backpacking through Europe I did a house-sit near the Cotswolds like Cameron Diaz does in The Holiday. And this time last year, I spontaneously rented a three-bedroom house for a life I “didn’t have” (nor was I sure I could afford) just . . .
